


Luminary

by forensicfairy



Category: Hunger Games - Fandom, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Careers (Hunger Games), Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, M/M, Original Character(s), Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, past hunger games, pre-74th hunger games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 52
Words: 101,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22835599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forensicfairy/pseuds/forensicfairy
Summary: Many do not remember Copper Hurst, the red-haired seventeen-year-old who was reaped for the 42nd Hunger Games. He couldn’t throw sacks of flour over his head. He wasn’t able to use a bow and arrow with deadly accuracy. Dubbed “the Inferno-Haired Boy” by the Capitol, he was deemed unremarkable apart from his orange, fiery locks. Winning the Hunger Games was something he knew could never happen. In fact, not even a sliver of hope in that regard ever existed within the boy’s mind. But as the number of contestants dwindled, the District 12 tribute found himself alongside a Career from District 1, forming a bond that even death and suffering could not seem to break. The two children, who grew up in complete opposite conditions, were able to come together and show that in the end, all the districts were the same- prisoners of the Capitol.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 87
Kudos: 136





	1. Prologue

Who hasn't heard of Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread, the same boy who almost consumed poisonous nightlock berries intentionally? The man who escaped _two_ Hunger Games? His courageous acts of defiance have made Panem's post-war history books along with Katniss Everdeen's, the leader of the rebellion. Their insurgency will not soon be forgotten, as well as that of the other brave victors.

...But what about the _other_ District 12 tribute who made a bold sacrifice?

Many do not remember Copper Hurst, the red-haired seventeen-year old who was reaped for the 42nd Hunger Games. He couldn't throw sacks of flour over his head. He wasn't able to use a bow and arrow with deadly accuracy. Dubbed "the Inferno-Haired Boy" by the Capitol, he was deemed unremarkable apart from his orange, fiery locks. Winning the Hunger Games was something he knew could never happen. In fact, not even a sliver of hope in that regard ever existed within the boy's mind.

Copper was seemingly plain, forgettable, and shy, but at the same time...he was so much more than that.

Somehow, Copper slipped away from death's grip narrowly at the Cornucopia bloodbath. Unlike so many District 12 tributes before him, he was not pictured in the sky that first night. The short, weak boy stayed away from the others as best he could, remembering what his mother told him to do.

As the number of contestants dwindled, Copper found himself alongside a certain tribute from District 1, forming a bond that even death and suffering could not seem to break. The two children, who grew up in complete opposite conditions, were able to come together and show that in the end, all the districts were the same- prisoners of the Capitol.

Copper. Timid, crooked-nosed Copper, who scored a measly 3 in his training evaluation, somehow found himself in the final confrontation of the 42nd Hunger Games. For those who ached for rebellion, his actions served as a reminder that even a defenseless boy could instill a longing for justice in their hearts.

As for those who cared for him, his family, friends, and even some from District 1, he will live on as the first tribute rebel of District 12.

.

.

.

 _"I don't know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth"_ – Ophelia, _Hamlet_ , Act IV, Scene V


	2. Nightmare

" _Asher Undersee!" the Capitol man chanted with a clown-like grin upon his face._

_Copper recoiled. Not Asher...please, not Asher…_

_A blazing, artificial sun beat down onto the abnormally green grass. Gigantic boulders littered the ground. How strange it was, being on this alien planet. It felt so...warm. The girl from District 1 laughed maniacally as blood splattered across her flawless little face, green eyes sparkling malevolently._

_Thrusting her sword out from the blonde boy's stomach, she whispered, "Bye-bye, District 12."_

Copper fell from his dream with a start on the day of the Reaping. He didn't try to sink back asleep, for waking up early was an inevitable occurrence that happened every year on this day.

The nightmares about Asher had been plaguing him often as of late.

 _Asher_. Copper remembered him walking shakily to the stage of the Justice Building, his hands balled into fists in a vain effort to conceal the trembling. It seemed just like yesterday that the two had been laughing on the playground at their dilapidated school, Asher's pale blonde hair gleaming in the heat of the afternoon sun.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Asher was standing on a concrete pedestal in a clearing filled with large, craggy rocks...his head jerking about...taking in the vastness of the arena…

That _stupid_ District 1 girl and her _stupid_ sword. She had no problem using it to slash through five kids, two of them being from District 12. The screams of Asher in his final moments were still just as vivid as the sound of his laughter...

Shutting his eyes, Copper willed himself desperately to think of something else. Steel and Beatrice, his older siblings, would be having a late lunch with Copper and his parents after the reaping. Steel worked in the mines alongside Copper's father, and his physique showed it. With his dark raven hair and olive-toned skin, he looked like a younger version of Mr. Hurst. Copper knew that had Steel been reaped back when he was still eligible, the Careers would've definitely been given a run for their money.

Beatrice, on the other hand, looked more like she was from the merchant side of town, which is where she now resided. Owning a furniture store, the thin, ashen-haired woman was probably better off financially than her own parents were. Copper knew that his mother, red-haired Mrs. Hurst, longed for the life Beatrice had obtained. Mrs. Hurst was a merchant's daughter growing up, but sacrificed that way of life when she married Copper's father, a man from the Seam.

Laying in bed, staring at the spiderweb cracks in his ceiling, Copper wondered briefly if he should go on a run before the reaping. Running was Copper's way of dealing with things, particularly stress. The release of endorphins was the only way for him to remain half-happy while living in the Seam. However, it was raining heavily today, big fat drops pelting the flimsy glass of Copper's window.

 _No,_ Copper thought. _No run for me today._

Sighing, Copper threw his tiny bed's thin quilt aside as he headed off to the bathroom. Why did all of this have to exist? The rebellion happened _decades_ ago. Despite his internal bickering, Copper knew why the Hunger Games were still in place. The Capitol displayed its power over the districts, almost as if to say, " _Look at how we can take away your children to have them slaughtered, and there's absolutely nothing you can do. Think before you decide to rebel again."_

The icy water from the sink shocked Copper's senses, pulling him from his thoughts. Looking up into the cracked mirror, he noticed his mother standing in the doorframe, hands hanging limply at the sides of her plain tan dress.

"Mom?" Copper asked, turning hesitantly to face his mother.

Mrs. Hurst edged her way further into the tiny room. Saying nothing, she brought Copper in for a strong hug that lasted several minutes. When they broke apart, Copper looked into his mother's eyes, feigning light heartedness.

"Mom, I'm going to be fine," Copper tried his best to sound confident. "I only have one more reaping to attend after today. Everything will be okay."

Mrs. Hurst gripped his shoulder, her blue-gray eyes full of worry.

"I know, Copper," Mrs. Hurst exhaled wearily, "But I could never forgive myself if something _did_ happen and I didn't show you how much I love you beforehand."

Copper teasingly twisted his face into a grimace, hoping his mother wouldn't realize how afraid he really was. "Let's just worry about surviving Beatrice's boring monologue about her store during lunch."


	3. The Reaper's Gathering

The Reaping. Even the name of the event sounded ominous. _The Grim Reaper flying down to the stage of the Justice Building, its black wings fluttering silently…_

Copper pinched himself, desperately trying to avoid his overactive imagination. The fantasies that he often brewed up within his mind consumed his very being, shielding him from the devastating reality that was life in District 12. Unfortunately, they were not always happy creations, especially during this time of year.

The buttons on his blue pin-striped button down weren't cooperating well with Copper's shaking fingers. He glanced down at the pair of dark blue shorts yet to be put on. They had originally been pants, but Copper had since outgrown them, so shorts would have to do for this year's reaping.

The square was crowded and soaked to the skin when Copper arrived. Breaking away from his parents, he walked slowly to the roped off seventeen year-old section. Many kids he knew from school were there, but Copper said nothing to them. He didn't have many friends. Not after Asher.

Fidgeting desperately, red hair blowing around in the rainstorm, Copper looked up at the stage of the Justice Building. A man with silver hair, lips, nails, and even a silver suit stepped daintily onto the stage before crossing to its center and taking hold of the microphone. He had been serving as District 12's escort for as long as Copper had been eligible for the reaping. The man was also known to control the flow of sponsor gifts if (and rarely) someone from District 12 survived the initial bloodbath of the Games. This was because District 12 had no living victor to act as a mentor.

 _Cerritulus Forebode,_ Copper thought bitterly.

"Welcome," Cerritulus smiled superficially, displaying a mouth full of silver. "As you all are well aware, the time has come to select another young boy and girl for the honor of representing District 12 in the 42nd annual Hunger Games. Before we get started, here is a video that has come specially for you all the way from the Capitol!”

Copper glanced at the large white screen next to the Justice Building, the same one that the district watched their children die on. A video began to play, one that he had seen many times before.

_"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."_

The video concluded with a young man, shirtless, holding up a fist in victory. Copper recalled what actual victors of the Games looked like- filthy, desperate, and covered in both their own blood and that of others. The screen faded to black.

"I just _adore_ that film," Cerritulus said in his horrible accent. "But now, let's get started!"

Copper watched, fear pulsing through his body, as Cerritulus approached the transparent sphere containing thousands of names, all of them belonging to girls within District 12.

_Please, God, let it be someone capable. Someone who'll put up a fight._

Cerritulus's silver-nailed hand churned the slips of paper in the bowl like butter. He continued shuffling them for an obnoxiously long amount of time before plucking a single slip from the mass. Smiling disturbingly, Cerritulus marched back to the microphone, unraveling the slip of paper agonizingly slowly. The crowd held their breath.

"Adeline Fall!"

Copper swallowed hard, his body shaking violently. He knew Adeline Fall. She was a year above him in school, and this was her last time participating in the reaping seeing as she was eighteen years-old. The girl wasn't a bad person, but she certainly didn't converse much with those from the Seam. Adeline lived on the merchant side of town and seldom ventured elsewhere.

.

.

.

_The Victory Tour was over._

_"Adeline! Sleep with anyone else, lately?" the girl said maliciously, her curly hair blowing in the harsh November wind. "No wonder you stink so bad. I hope poor Zachary wasn't infected by you."_

_Adeline turned abruptly, her matted jacket falling halfway off her shoulders._

_"Fuck off," she snarled, rage pumping through her veins, the blood rushing to her head, red spotting across her vision in fury._

_"Whatever, whore," the girl said, turning around. "I bet you'll be dead soon anyway. A dead whore from all your diseases. Or you can just die in the Hunger Games. Your name's in there how many times, now? One-hundred-eleven?"_

_._

_._

_._

Copper watched as the soaked girls surrounding Adeline cringed away from her, opening up a path for the blonde girl to walk through. Peacekeepers walked by her sides as she slowly ascended the steps to the stage. Even from far away, Copper could see the look of pure shock upon Adeline's face. However, she seemed relatively composed, allowing Cerritulus to lead her to the left side of the stage. No one volunteered.

"Marvelous!" Cerritulus exclaimed excitedly. "And now for the boys!"

Copper began to feel dizzy and nauseous at the same time. Cerritulus, drenched and clearly wanting to finish the reaping as soon as possible, swiftly removed a slip of paper from the other glass bowl. He walked hurriedly to the microphone, his silver hair plastered to his unnaturally-tanned face.

 _Not me...please not me,_ Copper silently begged.

Cerritulus looked up from the slip of paper, gazing out at the crowd, enthusiasm dancing in his cold eyes.

"Copper Hurst!"

What? Copper felt disoriented. He couldn't have heard that right. There was no way it could be him.

Cerritulus glanced around. "Copper? Copper Hurst?"

Copper was vaguely aware of a disturbance in the crowd around him, which caught the attention of Cerritulus. The man stared right at him. 

The cameras would be focusing on him now, the latest tribute boy from District 12. His vibrant composure drew the eye, like a fiery inferno in a sea of graying ash.

_No. No. NO!_

Copper ran a hand through his sopping locks before moving past the other boys. He didn't know how he was moving, but he was. Everyone in the square was staring at him. Copper nervously wrapped his arms around his shivering frame.

Cerritulus beckoned him to the stage.

"Come, darling," he said superfluously, grabbing Copper's hand and pulling him up to the stage.

Adeline looked down at him, her eyes dead, her hands clamped tightly behind her back. She was taller than him, Copper realized, but not by much.

"And there you have it," Cerritulus beckoned the two to face each other. "Our tributes from District 12. Shake hands!"

Copper turned to face Adeline. Her face contorted into an unpleasant grimace as the two shook hands, though Copper knew it wasn't because of him. Tears blurred his vision as Adeline broke away.

The rest of District 12 stared up at the two tributes, silently pressing three fingers to their lips and holding them out to the pair. Copper fought back sobs as Cerritulus gently whisked the two into the Justice Building.

.

.

.

_The Justice Building was dark. Pristine. Copper never thought he'd be here. Asher stood at the window._

" _I had a dream," Asher took a deep breath. "That we would always be best friends."_

The room was like none Copper had ever been in before. It wasn't how he remembered it when Asher was picked. He felt so out of place amongst the leather chairs and glittering curtains.

What was going to happen now? He truly was in the Hunger Games. And even worse, Copper knew nothing about combat, survival, or even making friends. He thought about what Asher would say, but nothing came. Asher was dead, and soon, he was going to be too.

Copper couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. His mind flashed with images of past Hunger Games.

A girl shivering like crazy in some kind of frozen wasteland.

Fourteen tributes dying in the goriest bloodbath in the history of the Games.

But he had to try his best to win, should he not? But really, there was no point. He could never win the Hunger Games. Even the kids in the Career districts were shuffled around like playing cards in the arena. The thought of what his death would do to his mother was enough to send Copper into another fit of crying. _Don't think about it. Don't think about it._

Suddenly, Copper's mother, father, Steel, and Beatrice were swarming around him. Mrs. Hurst grabbed Copper's face in her hands, her eyes pleading.

"Copper, listen to me. Stay the _hell_ away from the others! When that gong sounds, you turn, you run, you hide. You hide until no one else is left. Am I clear?"

Copper felt fresh tears welling up in his eyes. "Mom.."

"Am I clear?!"

Copper's body convulsed with a sob, and all he could do was nod.

His father told him he loved him. "You're not a killer, Copper. I know that. Whatever happens in that arena, whatever you have to do, will be forgiven. Nothing is off limits. Do whatever you can. It's _their_ fault, not yours."

Copper hugged his father for what he knew would be the final time. He smelled of leather, of pine, and of the mines.

_I must remember all of this._

Steel grabbed Copper's hand, enclosing a piece of shiny coal within his shaking fingers. "Your District token. I'm sorry, it's all I had with me. I hadn't noticed it in my jacket pocket until I left the mines yesterday."

Copper looked into his older brother's blue-gray eyes. "Thank you, Steel. I'll keep it until I take my last breath."

At these words, Beatrice burst into tears, wrapping her arms around Copper. "I-I love y-you," she sobbed, "You n-never deserved this."

The Peacekeepers barged in at this moment, tearing Beatrice away from Copper. Steel chose this moment to get aggressive, but was overpowered when four more of them grabbed him.

Copper stood helplessly as his family was taken away from him. His met eyes with Steel, who called out, "Just try to win!" before the door slammed shut.

.

.

.

_Take a few steps back._

_Run forward._

_Jump!_

_And...miss._

Two feet. She missed the lowest ledge by two feet.

"Try again!" Selene heard Augustus calling from behind her. The words didn't come out in the encouraging way that most people would say them. But she didn't really mind it much; he was just like that.

She didn't want to try again. She wanted to go home, where it was warm and cozy. Rain echoed off the roof of the academy. Its metallic atmosphere chilled Selene’s thin frame to the bone.

Reaping Day was rapidly approaching. Selene was 17, and currently forbidden to volunteer as tribute. Only 18-year-olds were allowed to volunteer in District 2. It was a “secret” rule that they were told upon entering the academy. Of course, there were years when certain pupils were given special permission to volunteer early.

Selene got to her feet again slowly, her heart sinking as Augustus began to yell at her again. "You need to be doing better than this, Selene!” he yelled. “Dammit, if I had the chance that you do…”

“Yeah, but you blew that,” she snapped, retying her raven hair into a tighter ponytail. “You could’ve volunteered, but you chose not to. So don’t yell at me like I have some special opportunity that you never did. Because we both know that you could’ve gone into the Games.”

He lunged over to her. Even his walk was intimidating. Selene flinched. 

“Listen here, little girl,” he whispered, his hot breath making the hairs on her neck stand on end. “You know what you have to do. You know what you _better_ do. You only have one year left to train.”

Oh, Selene knew. She knew that her chance to enter the Hunger Games was near. But she wasn’t even the best at the academy. She was in the top ten, sure, but there were several other girls who could throw her around like a rag doll with no trouble at all. The other girls were all 18, though. So next year, Selene would be the oldest. She would _have_ to volunteer.

Ignoring Augustus, she turned back to the ledge.

"Don't do it with a running start," he called over to her. "It makes it harder."

Augustus gave bad advice. The man was scary, really. He was parasitic, but perhaps Selene was as well. She couldn’t imagine living without him. She’d surely die. 

She listened to him. And...miraculously, his advice held true.

Selene placed one hand as high as she could on the next ledge, which was very smooth, unlike anything she’d actually encounter in the arena. It was wet from the water being misted out onto it. This obstacle course was meant to mimic natural conditions, like rain. It was slippery. Dangerous.

Okay, now the other hand. She stretched her left arm out as far as she could, literally hugging the next ledge, almost dangling a few inches from the previous one. She pulled her legs up and scrambled onto it.

No encouragement from anyone.

Selene awkwardly made herself climb a little bit more, only about half a foot, and then she was able to reach the next ledge. It was thinner. Her left hand just scraped against it, so she climbed slightly higher, almost falling again.

There! She could hold onto it now. Her other hand seemed to carefully glide over to the ledge automatically, and she pulled her legs up along the side so she was sitting on it. Selene let out a sigh of relief, realizing that she had been subconsciously terrified. 

Augustus just sighed, muttering a word under his breath that Selene thought was, "Finally."

The climb down was easier, even though she was tired and drained. Finally, Selene would be going home. She’d be getting a break from Augustus, from training, and from school. It was the weekend, and that meant two glorious days away from all of this. 

“I expect you here bright and early tomorrow,” Augustus said, pulling her over to him as the two made their way to the exit. 

“What?” Selene objected, unwarranted anxiety permeating through her. “But it’s the weekend. I need a break. Come on, Augustus.”

“ _Come_ **_on_** _, Augustus,_ ” he mimicked, his grip on her wrist tightening painfully. “Your only option is to keep training. Your parents will make sure you adhere to that if I talk to them.”

Selene shook her head, ignoring the pressure on her wrist. It was true. Her parents respected Augustus. Even at 22, he was one of the head coaches in the academy. “You’re impossible.”

He took her chin in his other hand, his fingers holding too tightly, holding till it hurt, and she saw the anger erupt in his eyes. Anything could send Augustus over the edge, even the most trivial of matters. Even two lousy words.

“N-” Selene started to object, but it was too late. 

His lips crushed against hers, stopping the District 2 girl’s protest. He kissed her angrily, roughly, his other hand still enclosed on her wrist. Escape was impossible. Selene used her free hand to shove against his chest with all her strength, but Augustus didn’t seem to even notice. His mouth was soft, despite the anger. It wasn’t pleasant. 

Selene grabbed at his face, trying to push it away, only to find herself failing again. He seemed to notice this time, though, and it aggravated him. His lips forced hers open, and she could feel his hot breath in her mouth. 

Acting on instinct, she let her hand drop to her side...and shut down. She opened her eyes and didn’t fight, didn’t feel...just waited for him to stop.

It worked. The anger seemed to evaporate, and Augustus pulled back to look at her. He pressed his lips softly against hers once, twice...a third time. Selene felt nauseous. She stood abnormally still, like a statue. 

“You’ll be here tomorrow,” Augustus said, his words coming out in proclamation, not a question.

“Yeah,” Selene said hazily.

She couldn’t live like this anymore. The week-old bruise on her chest ached dully, and it only solidified her decision. 

.

. _Several months later..._

.

The mayor took the stage, and began to tell the same story that he told every year. The story of Panem. How there were disasters, and all that was left were the original thirteen districts and the Capitol. How the Dark Days started and the districts rebelled. How District 13 was obliterated while the rest of the districts were given the Treaty of Treason, which, in turn, gave them the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games were so simple. Each year, through the Reaping, one boy, and one girl, between the ages of twelve and eighteen were selected. They were then thrown into a vast outdoor arena. The only rule? The last one alive was the victor. Well, that and don't step off your metal plate before sixty seconds were up and the unspoken rule about no cannibalism.

The District 2 escort swept forward to select the tributes for this year’s Hunger Games. Selene wasn’t allowed to volunteer; she wasn’t old enough, or good enough. 

But the holes in the drywall were enough to convince her otherwise. The cold words of Augustus were dampening her spirit, and her body was breaking underneath his wrath. She couldn’t live like this.

Whoever was picked, Selene didn’t know. She wasn’t listening. All she knew was that it would be her who was going into the arena this year. 

_"I volunteer.”_

Augustus stared at her from the crowd, his gaze as malignant as ever. Selene walked to the stage, ignoring the glares from the other girls who were better than her, who had trained harder than her. But they couldn’t say anything. It was illegal to train for the Hunger Games, even if the law wasn’t enforced. 

The academy would hate her. But Selene didn’t care, for she was getting away from all of the awfulness that District 2 had thrust upon her. Perhaps, soon, she’d be living in the Victors Village. Augustus wouldn’t touch her there. Surely he’d move on to some other poor girl.

.

.

.

“Pascal, it's time to get ready for the Reaping!"

The mousy-haired girl rolled over and looked at the clock. She had one hour until they had to leave. Sixty minutes. Three thousand, six hundred seconds.

Three thousand, five hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven...

She got out of bed slowly and walked over to the dresser to start getting ready. Selecting an outfit wasn’t hard for Pascal; she wore the same thing everyday. At least since she had been promoted at the factory. A white oxford shirt, grey cardigan, and grey slacks were what she practically lived in nowadays. The badge that indicated her position as head (ex) student programmer was still pinned to the shirt.

It wasn’t a great life, at least not the type of life that Pascal had envisioned for herself. She had been out of school for about a year now, even though she was “only” just barely fifteen. She had been interviewed by people from the Capitol about going to work there. One of her teachers had recommended her. At the time, it seemed like a great honor. Pascal felt like she was advancing in a direction opposite of the Hunger Games, boring school work, and an obviously totalitarian society. Unfortunately, though, this was only a twisted reality that the girl had concocted for herself. She was perfectly aware of how bad things were, but she chose to ignore it. It was too difficult otherwise. 

After getting ready, Pascal headed downstairs for breakfast, where her family engaged in small talk to stay off of the topic of the Reaping. She didn't see the point in avoiding it, because not talking about it didn't mean that it didn't exist, no matter what they wanted.

Afterwards, it was just about time to go to the Reaping, but her dad insisted that it was too early. "Why are you so eager to leave?" he asked. "It's not like you have any friends to go talk to."

He was right, of course. A lot of Pascal’s peers didn't share her interests, so she didn't really have friends. But that was alright with her. Ironically, District 3 citizens typically had a disdain for technology, even if they were the most educated in matters relating to it. It wasn’t fun to be slaves to the Capitol, using their skills for the government and not themselves. Life was hard, and Pascal knew that District 3 was one of the more moderately wealthy districts. She couldn’t even imagine what life was like in 10, 11, and 12. 

_According to the Capitol.PN, District 3 claims 62,991 in tesserae, making it the fifth richest district,_ she thought. But could that be used as an accurate way to measure wealth? Perhaps some people would rather starve than risk being put into the Hunger Games. Pascal herself had never taken out tesserae.

"Well, we're not doing anything very constructive here, so it would be a better use of our time to start leaving for the Reaping," she pointed out.

The walk was mostly in silence. When they got there, Pascal signed in (the prick of her finger always hurt) and made her way over to the fifteen-year-old section.

Because it had taken a while to convince her dad that it was time to go, it wasn't long before their mayor, Mayor Deevop, started the ceremony.

He told the story of Panem, and while Pascal really tried her hardest to listen, it was difficult because she had heard it so many times. The girl was finally able to concentrate when he got to reading the list of past victors, but there were only three. She had memorized the entire spiel anyway.

Then, it was time for the tributes to be selected.

“Pascal Captiosus!"

Wait a second...that was her! She was Pascal Captiosus! But that was statistically unlikely...that she had been called...she only had four slips out of thousands, after all. Nevertheless, the girl started to make her way to the stage, trying to look confident. She knew she was failing, though, as the tears began to run down her cheeks. She felt like she was about to collapse.

Once Pascal finally reached the stage, and the male tribute was picked (Pascal didn’t know him. Fortran?) the mayor read the Treaty of Treason, which she didn't manage to concentrate on at all. She was so nervous...what would happen in the arena? Maybe she could find a way to use what she had learned from the factory to help her...

The mayor was gesturing for the two District 3 tributes to shake hands, and Pascal followed his order. Fortran was stronger than he looked, his grip tough and firm, especially compared to hers. If he was "just" the other District 3 tribute, what were the Careers like?

The anthem played, and she let the music calm her thoughts slightly before they were taken to the Justice Building.

Pascal’s mom and dad were her only visitors.

"You're...you're smart," her mom said shakily. "You...you could win...and...and come home."

“Of course she's coming home," her dad said. "Right, darling?"

"Right," Pascal said quietly. "I...I will...come home..."

"You can use what you've learned," her mom pointed out. "Get yourself some allies, maybe. Impress the Gamemakers. Get your support team on your side."

Pascal nodded.

"Just be yourself. The crowd will love it," her dad said.

Pascal wasn't so sure. If she couldn't even make friends here in the district, how was she supposed to win over rich, important, Capitol sponsors? Even her dad made a point to say that she had no friends. It was so contradictory and illogical of him. So typical.

The Peacekeepers were signaling that it was time to go.

"We love you," her mom said, giving her daughter a hug.

And then the white-armored soldiers were telling them that they had to leave.

It was a long wait, sitting there, expecting something to happen. Pascal examined the room.

There were five paintings and three pieces of furniture. The ceiling was made of sixty tiles. Each wall was exactly fifteen feet long and eleven feet tall.

Those were the facts that she was able to recite by the time they came for her.

.

.

.

" _Anyone you want to say hello to?" Caesar asked quietly._

_Asher looked into the camera, his black suit glowing in the harsh stage light._

" _I'd like to tell my best friend, Copper, that I miss him."_

_._

_._

_._

The ride to the train in District 12's filthy, ancient automobile was quite unpleasant for Copper. Cerritulus sat in between him and Adeline, talking nonstop about what was yet to come.

"So, upon our arrival to the train, we will immediately indulge ourselves in something decadent. After that, we absolutely _must_ watch the reaping recaps from the other districts. It's important for you two to be aware of who you're up against!"

Adeline's eyes narrowed. "Really? This is all some stupid show for you, isn't it? You're nothing but a piece of garbage, a stone underneath the Capitol's feet. I hope to God that you never have to fight for your pathetic life. You would die in less than a second."

Copper's eyes widened in shock at Adeline's words. He instantly decided that she was a much braver person than he was. Almost admirable in a way. She voiced Copper's true opinion, something he was too afraid to declare aloud.

Cerritulus, on the other hand, was not so impressed. "Adeline Fall, I am here to help the both of you through this! It is I who controls the flow of sponsor gifts into the arena for you! I figure out what angles you both are to play for the Capitol! Since District 12 has no living victor, I am your mentor. And because of that, you will respect me. Is that clear?"

Adeline scowled, but Copper thought he saw a hint of guilt in her pale eyes. "Okay."

Cerritulus turned to her, his rough jacket brushing Copper in the cramped vehicle. "Adeline, you must think positively about all of this, or at least tactfully. Negativity results in early termination during the Hunger Games. Believe me, I have seen it before."

The sigh that followed Cerritulus' voice sounded almost somber to Copper. Perhaps Cerritulus wasn't like other Capitol residents. Maybe he actually cared about the tributes? Copper dismissed the thought. _No, no one in the Capitol cares about the fate of those who live in the districts._

The shining, metallic train looked completely out of place in District 12's dirty train station. Peacekeepers were everywhere, their dark helmets making it impossible to know whether or not they were staring at the two tributes. Adeline's thin, floral dress blew indifferently in what was now the aftermath of the rainstorm.

It was weird, like they were celebrities or something. Copper supposed that they were, at least for now. Soon, only one would be famous...the victor. The rest of them would fall away into nothingness, just more deaths that nobody from the Capitol would remember, but that the Districts would hold onto forever.

As they boarded the train, a Peacekeeper reached out to help Adeline up the steps.

"Don't touch me!" she spat, pulling her hands swiftly away from the Peacekeeper's outstretched arm. Copper was terrified to act in such a manner, so he allowed himself to be escorted silently. Cerritulus barrelled in behind him.

What Copper stumbled into nearly took his breath away. The inside of the train felt wonderful. It was cool, and the air smelled so fresh, even if it had an almost synthetic tint to it. There were blue velvet armchairs, a brilliant chandelier, and several flat-screen televisions in the corners of this particular room. By the windows, a shimmering table stood triumphantly.

"Okay you two, let's eat," Cerritulus yelped excitedly. "I suspect some of the reapings are still happening as we speak, so we might as well do something fun while waiting!"

"Fun" had never been a word that Copper would have used to describe eating. "Necessity" or "bland" may have been more accurate, but he wasn't planning on saying either of those to Cerritulus at the moment.

Adeline placed a hand on the table that sat in the middle of the room. Its surface appeared to be a mirror, as the girl's vacant expression stared back at her amidst the trays, silverware, and plates that adorned it. "What are we eating?" she asked.

Cerritulus clapped his hands together. "Anything you'd like, of course! But, I had the cooks prepare some of the Capitol's most _popular_ dishes for us. I figured you would both like to try something new!"

Copper took a seat across from Adeline as Cerritulus sat down at the end of the table. Behind the girl and out the window, trees were whizzing by in a blur. They were steadfast on their way to the Capitol.

The food was like nothing Copper had ever tasted before. He understood now why Cerritulus referred to eating as "fun." There were sandwiches bursting with smoky meat, half a dozen thick, creamy stews with golden ladles floating in them, crunchy fried chicken, crumbly cakes and tarts, rich puddings, and fizzing drinks that tickled Copper's tongue.

Everything was so delicious that Adeline and Copper continued to eat even after they were full. It couldn't hurt to put on a few pounds before the Games, could it? Suddenly, his stomach lurched.

The bathroom was beautiful. Crystals glittered from the walls to the floor. Copper didn't feel well. The rich food had almost immediately triggered some sort of reaction in his frail body, as if he couldn't process it right.

Cerritulus looked rather uneasy as Copper returned to the table. He was probably repulsed by the way the tributes chewed, which was loudly and ravenously. Copper found himself unable to care, even if his stomach was still tingling uncertainly. It was about time he and Adeline had something decent to eat.

Finally, after most of the food was gone (which was impressive seeing as there was _a lot_ of it, most of it going to Adeline), Cerritulus stood up from the table and crossed the compartment toward the television. Sitting down in a blue leather chair, he beckoned the children to follow him.

"Come now, you two," he said happily. "Time to watch the other Reapings! It's always interesting to glimpse the new brave young men and women competing!"

Copper glanced at Adeline. Expecting her to frown, he was surprised to see that she rolled her eyes and smiled, revealing a set of very crooked, although brilliantly white teeth. The meal must've brightened her mood, if only temporarily.

The two District 12 tributes crossed the room and sat in chairs away from Cerritulus. The screen flickered to life, and Copper watched fearfully as District 1's Reaping was shown. He was shocked at what he saw.

For one thing, the square was _beautiful_. It was the complete and utter opposite of District 12's. Had Copper not known better, he may have even believed it was the Capitol itself. People dressed in elegant shades of turquoise, chartreuse, mauve, and pale blue stood cheerfully on the neat cobblestones. Everyone seemed excited for the Reaping to start. _Idiots,_ Copper thought.

The names of past victors was read, and there were at least 15 of them. Adeline let out a huff of disdain as everyone clapped at the commencement of the reading. Copper understood what she meant. It really wasn't fair. He knew that District 1 trained its children to compete in the Games, where it was seen as a great honor to be chosen. _Don't they see the Hunger Games for what it truly is?_

The escort, a hideous woman resembling some sort of cat-like creature approached the glass bowl containing the names of possible tribute girls. Reaching the podium, she read triumphantly, "Glisten Braun!"

Immediately after the words left her lips, a tall girl with waves of warm blonde hair pushed her way to the stage. She smiled, revealing brilliantly white teeth, before confidently declaring, "I volunteer!"

Copper, who was only feeling slightly sick a few minutes ago, suddenly felt very ill. District 1 tributes _always_ volunteered. This girl, with her muscular frame and toned arms would be seriously deadly. She was also beautiful, at least what the Capitol considered it to be. Sponsors would not be an issue for her at all.

"Why hello! You seem eager," the District 1 escort laughed. "What is your name, dear?"

The District 1 girl threw a long lock of her wavy hair behind her back. "Victoree. Victoree Obdurate!"

Adeline laughed bitterly at the screen. "Her name is _Victoree_? What a fitting name for a Career. No doubt the Capitol will take special interest in _her_."

Cerritulus shrugged his shoulders. "Yes yes, District 1 is very pretty and very nice, but I prefer the underdogs. District 12 tributes have far more dynamic than the Careers do. Have you ever seen a female District 1 tribute without glittering blonde hair and, er- gigantic breasts? N-no, I do not believe so."

Copper and Adeline burst out laughing at Cerritulus's words.

" _Gigantic breasts_?" Adeline said. "Okay Capitol dude- I mean Cerritulus- you might be weird, but at least you're entertaining."

Copper found himself disliking Cerritulus _somewhat_ less after hearing that he didn't particularly love District 1. Maybe they would get along better than expected? Victoree's hair wasn't just blonde, though. It had shades of golden brown and red in it. It was so multidimensional, something Copper knew could not be natural. No one in District 12 looked like that.

The male tribute was selected next, and things played out almost exactly as they had with Victoree.

A boy- er, man, quickly volunteered to take the place of a scared-looking child who was no older than thirteen. Copper stared at him as he took the stage alongside Victoree. Introducing himself as Cyan Cordierite, he smiled at the crowd and waved.

"I'm really excited to finally be competing in the Hunger Games," he said huskily. "Since I'm 18, this is my last chance. I know that District 1 won't be disappointed." He winked and blew a kiss to the cameras, which nauseated Copper.

Cyan was everything Copper wasn't. He was tall, dirty blonde, and lanky but muscular at the same time. He had to be at least six feet tall. His eyes were a vivid green, which was typical for a citizen of District 1. His voice sounded powerful and confident, whereas Copper's was rather high and often came out in a whisper. Cyan looked like...an adult? Like someone actually competent. Copper's stomach shifted uneasily, though not from the food. He scolded himself silently. Cyan was _evil_ , just like that District 1 girl who murdered Asher.

Cerritulus must have seen the sheer unease on Copper's face. "They train at a combat academy until they're 18, then they volunteer." he muttered. "I'm pretty sure they're trained by past victors. Yes, they have an advantage because of this, but Career tributes typically know _very_ little about survival skills."

Copper and Adeline already knew this. Just because they lived in District 12 didn't mean that they knew nothing about how unfair the Hunger Games really were. It was obvious that the richer districts would prepare on some level. If District 12 had better resources, perhaps they would as well.

Adeline shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Well, that's great news, Cerritulus! We know _nothing_ about combat _or_ survival."

"Then you must pay very close attention to the survival stations in the training center," Cerritulus said, examining his nails intently. "Everyone wants to grab a knife, but the truth is, most of the Career tributes will die of natural causes. _Exposure_ can kill as easily as a sword."

Copper found himself nodding at Cerritulus's words. That was actually useful information. Perhaps if he could learn enough about the wilderness, and stay away from the Careers, they would all die before him.

_What are you thinking, Copper? You really think the Careers will die before you? Even if they know nothing about survival, their sponsors will save their incompetent little asses with food, water, clothing, and even weapons. Get your head out of the gutter._

The rest of the Reapings passed in a blur. The tributes from District 2 were brutal-looking as well. Flint, Copper believed that was his name, was an average height, but extremely fit. His hair was trimmed right down to his scalp, and his muscles rippled through the shirt he wore.

The District 2 girl was taller, with flowing raven hair tied in a high ponytail. Her name was Selene, and she volunteered just as Flint had. They smirked as the escort had the two shake hands.

Copper was relieved when District 3 was shown. The square was interesting. It was metallic, almost, and cramped. There were many people in this district. Factories surrounding the square could be seen albeit barely. It looked like District 1 if District 1 was somehow poorer and less focused on appearance.

The girl was crying, her mousy-brown hair blowing into her flushed face as she approached the stage. The boy had dark brown hair and very thick, horn-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes awkwardly. Their names were Pascal and Fortran, and they looked like actual children (unlike the previous two districts). District 3 was intelligent, though they often did not win the Hunger Games. Copper could recall that their tributes often made it further than most of the non-Career districts, but due to their lack of training, they almost always were eliminated by Careers in the end.

District 4 was different than 1 and 2 because no one volunteered to take the place of Pike, the 15 year-old boy who was chosen. Perhaps no one felt confident enough this year? The square was airy and bright, ribbons and shades of blue blowing in the wind.

The girl tribute volunteered. Her name was Quay. She had nut-brown skin, sleek, straight dark hair, and muscular arms (probably obtained from years of spear-fishing). Copper sincerely hoped he would die before having to cross paths with her.

District 5 was another relief for both Adeline and Copper. The tributes, Carob and Revella, were small and beady-eyed. They were not crying as the District 3 girl had.

District 6's Reaping was a sight to behold. It was the biggest district in Panem, and the square contained thousands upon thousands of people. Planes sat behind the stage, presumably for aesthetic reasons. This district had a drug problem, and sometimes addicts were Reaped. They typically were killed off in the bloodbath.

 _Then again, District 12 never lasts beyond the bloodbath, either,_ Copper thought.

The girl, Volant, had warm-colored hair and tan skin. She looked very angry. Her features were bright and healthy; definitely not the yellowish, sunken look of a drug addict. The boy, however, did not look so pristine. He was young- very young, but the purple bags under his eyes and the frailness of his stature suggested a morphling addiction.

"He'll be gone in the bloodbath, unless there's morphling at the Cornucopia," Adeline said.

Cerritulus looked at her, puzzlement cascading in his iron-colored eyes. "You're aware of District 6's, uh- _predicament_ with drug abuse? May I ask how? I didn't realize it was common knowledge."

Adeline snickered. "District 6 won the Hunger Games, like, seven years ago. I remember the withdrawal the victor went through. It was obvious that he was ill."

Cerritulus nodded apprehensively. "Ah, yes, I had forgotten about their first victory. Bit of a fluke, wasn't it?"

"Definitely," Adeline said. "Who would've expected that earthquake to open up the ground thirty-seconds into the Games? The whole Career pack got swallowed up. I wish that would happen this year."

Copper sighed. It was unlikely something like that would happen again anytime soon. He had a strange suspicion that the Capitol made District 6 win the Hunger Games on purpose that year. It was one of the more uncontrolled Districts, and a lack of victory was bound to make them revolt soon. Besides, the year that District 6 won was awful in terms of Capitol entertainment. Nobody liked that the most glamorous tributes had died so quickly. The Games had lasted a record-short length of around three days, and the male victor survived by camouflaging himself until everyone else was dead. 

District 7 was beautiful even on screen. Thousands of trees could be seen behind the stage, and the sky was a clear, deep blue. The female tribute was a small girl of Asian descent. Her partner was a boy in his later teens with jet-black hair and dark eyes. Copper secretly wished he lived there. He would at least have some ghost of a skill with an axe. 

_Oh well._

The frizzy-haired girl from District 8, Paisley, had red locks just like Copper. However, hers were a more muted, lighter red. Her district partner, Weft, was a pale, tall boy with dark brown hair and large lips. The atmosphere of this Reaping was unsettling. It was dark, and factories surrounded the square, thick smoke billowing into the air. It had to be the ugliest district of them all. Copper recalled how much snow he typically saw there on-screen when the Victory Tours occurred.

The rest of the Reapings were very vague. District 9's lasted about 20 seconds and was heavily edited. District 10's mentioned the boy's name but not the girl's. District 11 didn't mention either of the tributes, only showing the defeated expressions upon their faces. The two had inky-black skin, which looked almost dazzling in the sunlight.

Copper expected District 12's Reaping recap to be even more boring than 11's. What he ended up seeing shocked him.

When he was selected, the camera followed him all the way up to the stage, which was something that often only happened in the Career districts. His fiery hair seemed to be more focused on than the teary, sniffling expression he wore.

Caesar Flickerman, who was recapping the Reapings, made immediate comment on it. "What beautiful hair!" he exclaimed. "A color that bright is so rare to see naturally! I think we can agree that a new trend may be heading to the Capitol!"

Copper's face grew hot with embarrassment. Why were they talking about his _hair?_ It wasn't that special. _He_ wasn't that special.

Adeline was shown more briefly than he, but she garnered more attention than 10 and 11 had. Copper realized in that moment that Adeline was pretty, even with her sopping hair and thin, child-like dress. Her blonde hair mimicked the disingenuous locks of Victoree, but in a much more natural way. If the Capitol people liked Victoree, he was sure they would like Adeline, at least on some level. The camera focused on the two shaking hands, emphasizing Copper's hair once again. It looked almost _too_ red.

"Does my hair actually look like that?" he asked timidly. Adeline burst out laughing at his words.

"Hate to break it to ya," she said, "But yes. It really is that bright. I'm surprised you don't have any freckles at all, or ghost-white skin. Maybe your hair will save your ass this year."

.

.

.

**cy·an**

/ˈsīən/

_a greenish-blue color, which is one of the primary subtractive colors, complementary to red._

_._

_._

_._

**cop·per**

_/ˈkäpər/_

_a reddish-brown color like that of copper._

.

.

.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Cerritulus began, "And I suggest you two do as well. Tomorrow, we'll be at the Capitol! Isn't that exciting?!"

Copper glanced out the window, seeing nothing but blackness. The sun had set long ago. "I suppose so. Where are our rooms?" he asked.

Cerritulus motioned to a door at the end of the compartment. "Down the hall, you'll find rooms each marked with your full name. I believe the closets have been filled with clothing of your exact size, and the showers should be ready to use now. Have a good night!"

Copper and Adeline watched Cerritulus march down the hall in the opposite direction. As he approached a door made of a glossy mahogany, it opened on command. The silvery man disappeared from view as it closed silently.

"Ugh, he's so weird," Adeline said.

Copper completely agreed, but he liked Cerritulus more and more the longer he was around him. Sure, the man was extremely superficial and odd, but something about him provided Copper with comfort. He disliked the Careers, seemed sympathetic towards Adeline and himself, and even gave them advice to survive the Games.

Copper yawned. "I guess we should try to go to sleep?"

Adeline nodded. "Sure, whatever."

The two approached the other mahogany door in the compartment, which opened as they reached it. "Motion sensing," Adeline said absent-mindedly.

The hallway was lit with dim, calming blue lights. Copper followed Adeline's outline until they reached a door marked "Adeline FALL- DISTRICT 12 FEMALE TRIBUTE".

"Want to come in for a little bit?" Adeline asked.

Copper's eyes widened. "Uh, um.."

"Don't be an idiot, Copper," Adeline said sourly. "You're my only friend now. I just figured we could talk or something."

Copper felt heat rising in his cheeks as he silently cursed himself for being so stupid. "Yeah, okay, I'd like that."

The carpet of the room was so lush it felt almost like grass, besides the fact that it was a dark blue color. An enormous bed sat by the windows, which were hidden behind a pair of dark curtains. A closet was carved into the wall, and a large television was perched in a corner. Copper remembered his own bedroom at home, and a wave of nausea overwhelmed his senses.

"Are you alright?" Adeline asked, taking a seat on the plush bed.

"Fine," Copper said, gripping the wall and attempting to calm himself. "I just, you know...I want to go home."

"I know," Adeline began. "I can't help but think about it. Everything here is so different, but it all reminds me of home. That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

Copper shook his head. "No, it doesn't, but I understand what you mean. I hated living in District 12, but I'd give anything to be back in the Seam right now, with my parents…" he trailed off. It was too painful.

"Maybe we should talk about something else?" Adeline asked. Her voice was softer. Kinder.

"Yes, we should, I really don't want to cry even more than I already have," Copper smiled weakly.

"Okay...well, what's your favorite color?"

Without thinking, Copper immediately said, "Green."

"Green is nice," Adeline said, "But blue is even better."

Copper glanced up at the girl. Her pale blue eyes glittered like aquamarines in the faint light of the room.

"Blue is okayish," he said, laughing when Adeline scowled at him.

He paused. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Adeline looked away. "I don't know. This is the end of the line, Copper. Nothing will ever be the same, whether me, or you, lives or dies. Victors aren't happy people. But back in District 12, I wasn't happy, either. Life sucked. I never dreamed I'd leave District 12, but I knew if I did, it would be because of only one reason. And this is that reason. It doesn't matter that I'm not enough for the future or the things to come."

Copper was shocked by the depressiveness of her words. She seemed almost suicidal. But then again, who in District 12 didn't struggle with depression on some level? He understood what it was like to not want to fight anymore. It was almost like this was an exit, a way for them to end their time on earth. At least they would get to experience luxury that few in District 12 would ever be able to.

The words tumbled from Copper's mouth before he could stop them. "Adeline, do you want to be allies?"

Adeline's lips parted in shock. Copper looked away from her, embarrassment flooding through him. _Of course Adeline doesn't want to be your ally! You're almost as tiny as that girl from District 3. Actually, you're probably even tinier. Why would Adeline ruin her chances of winning by partnering up with a weakling like you?_

"Yeah, I'd like that," Adeline said, her crooked teeth showing as she smiled. "I really don't want to talk to anyone outside our district. You're the only person who could even begin to understand me. But let's talk about something else besides the Games. How is your stomach feeling? I think I'm actually about to shit my brains out."

Copper grinned. Maybe he and Adeline weren't so different after all.

Copper awoke abruptly. Opening his eyes, he squinted in the raging sunlight. The curtains were drawn away from the window. _Where am I?_

Then it all came rushing back to him. The reaping. Saying goodbye. The train ride. His conversation with Adeline.

 _Adeline_. He had fallen asleep in her room! Copper immediately sat up, his heart pounding. Where was she? Was she mad?

Copper stumbled to the door. Just as he was about to turn the knob, it opened. Copper cringed away from it.

"Why do you look so scared?" Adeline said, her eyes narrowing. "Oh God, is it because you fell asleep on my bed? You're ridiculous, Copper.“

"You're right, Adeline," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. Everything is just...very surreal at the moment. I can't let stupid stuff rattle me."

Adeline laughed. "Whatever. Go get a shower, get changed, and then go _eat_ something. You look terrible."

Copper would've been offended, but he knew being rude was obviously Adeline's way of dealing with all this. Sighing, he walked down the hall and into his own room.

It was an exact replica of Adeline's except the clothes in the closet were probably different. Stripping off his shirt, shorts, and socks, Copper walked to the bathroom and into the shower.

There were over half a dozen buttons. _What the…?_ This was nothing like the tiny bathtub in Copper's home, where one simply pulled a lever and an icy jet of water would spout out.

After almost _ten_ minutes of fooling with the different temperatures and liquid soaps, Copper finally found a setting that wasn't scalding hot or extremely cold. Sighing, he let the warm flow of water and soap wash over his body.

How long he remained there, Copper wasn't sure. He wanted nothing more than to stay in the shower and let his thoughts drift…

He thought back to the reaping recaps from yesterday, particularly that of District 1. _The girl, Victoree, looked so much like the one who murdered Asher,_ Copper thought to himself. _And Cyan..._ a feeling of anxiousness settled itself in his stomach.

Copper wonder what his family was doing right now. Steel and his father would be in the mines. Beatrice would be tending to her store, unless she closed it for today to...recover. His mother would be at home...in all honesty, she was probably still in bed. Mrs. Hurst often didn't rise until very late, and that was when tragedy wasn't striking the family.

 _Tragedy_. Yes, that's what this was.

Mrs. Hurst struggled with even the simplest of tasks on some days. Some days, she could barely even get out of bed. She was depressed, Copper knew that. But even on her darkest days, the woman dragged herself from her prison and haven to make Copper his lunch for school. He knew how enormous this task was for her, and he appreciated it enormously. But those lunchbox days were over.

The closet was filled with dozens and dozens of outfits. Copper removed a plain long-sleeved t-shirt. Out of everything there, it was most reminiscent of what he typically wore. As for pants, he found a pair of khaki shorts that fit perfectly.

After putting on a pair of thick black socks, Copper stole a glance at himself in the mirror. His red hair shined abnormally (probably the shampoo), but his blue-gray eyes and timid expression remained the same.

_Good, I'm still the person I was yesterday. But then again, the Game haven't begun._

Breakfast was...quite a wonder to behold. The shining table bore pancakes, sausages, a boat of maple syrup (District 7?), bite-sized rolls, bacon (District 10?), eggs, toast, jam, margarine, fruits of all kinds, fried potatoes, and glass containers full of milk, orange juice, and icy lemon water. At the end of the table sat Cerritulus.

"Finally up, are we?" he said, failing to mask the disapproval in his voice.

Copper tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling his underarms begin to sweat. "I'm sorry, Cerritulus," he said nervously. "I was just really tired."

Adeline smirked. "Just sit down so we can eat, we've been waiting for you."

Copper quickly took a seat. _They were waiting for me? If I had known, I would've been here so much sooner. How embarrassing._

Copper very seldom was able to have pancakes back in District 12, so he seized the opportunity to pile his plate high with them. He was halfway through his second one when he remembered people typically put butter and syrup on them.

As he reached for the syrup, Cerritulus broke the silence. "I think we need to discuss how you two are going to present yourselves in the Capitol. Adeline, you seem to be rather, um, bold and open about how you see things. Perhaps you could use this to your advantage, along with your sarcasm during your interview?"

Adeline forced down a mouthful of laughter. "Um, yeah, I guess so. I know how to play the 'sassy girl' card pretty well when I want to. I'm not about to be anything but myself, though. So everything else is off limits."

Cerritulus tapped his nails excitedly. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed in his high-pitched Capitol accent. "People like a bit of humor in a tribute, _especially_ snarky sarcasm!"

Adeline shrugged. "Okay. But what about Copper? What 'angle' should he go for? The modest schoolboy?"

Cerritulus turned bright red, which was quite something considering the amount of makeup he wore. "Actually," he said awkwardly, "That's what I was going to suggest, Copper."

Copper looked worriedly at the two of them. "I-I'm not sure I can play an angle very well. I'm not much of an actor."

Adeline rolled her eyes, an exaggerated sigh escaping her mouth. "Copper, you don't _have_ to act for that role, being yourself is enough. Just like me."

Copper stared at her for a moment, before softening his expression. "Well, good, whatever. I'm glad I don't have to pretend to be someone I'm not."

.

.

.

It was around midday when Adeline yelled, "Look, Copper!"

Alarmed, Copper turned to face Adeline, who was gazing out the window. He hurried over to her, his eyes falling on what she was pointing to.

In the distance, just past a few snow-capped mountains, was a huge city, its skyscrapers shimmering in the blinding sunlight.

"We're here," Adeline breathed. "We're at the Capitol."


	4. The Capitol

" _Kill that bitch!" someone in the District 12 square yelled. Copper gazed anxiously at the screen above him. The District 1 girl snarled as she launched herself at the boy from District 4. They were the only two left. This was the final confrontation._

"Now, remember you two," Cerritulus began, "Once we reach the station, there will be hundreds of Capitol residents waiting to see the tributes in person. Smiling and waving will help you both tremendously. If you do not act friendly, do not expect many sponsors."

Copper gulped. He wasn't a good actor. How on earth was he going to manage to just "smile and wave" when he felt like breaking down and crying on the floor?

As they entered the train station, the Capitol residents began to appear. Copper suddenly found himself very afraid. The people were so strange looking, with their creepy makeup and crazed smiles; they looked like demented clowns. If he was going to die anyway, why even try to look good in front of these horrible people?

Suddenly feeling braver than he knew he was, Copper hid behind the curtains, his head resting on his shaking knees.

Adeline, however, sat by the window and waved happily. It seemed almost disingenuous, which intrigued Copper since Adeline had insisted on being herself.

Nevertheless, she smiled at the Capitol citizens outside, not seeming phased in the least. Turning to Copper, she said through gritted teeth, "Get over here and wave to them!"

Copper shook his head. "I'm not going to wave at them and act all friendly when I know that they're excited to watch me die. Maybe you have a chance at getting out of this, Adeline, but I don't. And because of that, there's no reason for me to be someone I'm not."

Adeline narrowed her eyes at him for a split second. "Fine, whatever. Be that way." she then resumed her crooked smile and continued waving to the outside world.

 _Get over there and wave to them,_ the survivalist inside Copper demanded.

 _No,_ Copper thought. _I hate the Capitol, and I hate everyone who lives here._

Exiting the train, Copper was lead by Peacekeepers straight into the mass of people. Although they parted to make way for him, he knew that they were all snapping pictures of Adeline and himself. He felt his body begin to quake with involuntary trembles as the Capitol people yelled obnoxiously.

"Copper! Adeline!" they yelled in unison. Adeline smiled and leaned towards Copper, grabbing his hand. He gasped as she raised them both into the air. The crowd cheered louder than ever.

"Just _smile,_ " Adeline snapped through her teeth. Copper was shocked to find that he did as she asked.

Suddenly, new names were being echoed in the crowd. "Victoree! Cyan!"

Copper looked wildy around. He was surrounded by Peacekeepers, but he still was able to see the tall outline of Cyan bobbing through the crowd yards behind himself and Adeline. Copper couldn't help it; he continued to stare through the rhythmic moving of one of the Peacekeeper's arms.

That's when he saw that Cyan was staring directly at him. His expression, previously jovile and sociable, was now rather stoic as he didn't break eye contact with the District 12 tribute. Copper whirled back around, his face turning beat red. It was strange to see the other tributes in person. It was strange to see Cyan in person.

Although they had only been walking for less than five minutes, Copper knew where their destination was.

Looking over a Peacekeeper's shoulder, he inhaled sharply.

A gigantic building stood a few hundred yards from him and Adeline. It was a tall skyscraper attached to a more rectangular-looking structure.

_The Training Center._

Copper was finally able to breathe comfortably as he felt the doors to the Training Center closing protectively behind himself and Adeline, drowning out the screams of the Capitol people. Turning around, he noticed Cerritulus smiling broadly.

"Perfect, perfect, _perfec_ t!" the silvery escort yelped excitedly. "You two actually smiled, and the hand-holding was a top-notch addition to it all, Adeline! I think _both_ of you will do very well with the people! And I cannot _wait_..."

…But Copper wasn't listening. Across the hallway, a tall girl with long, dark hair was smirking at him menacingly. _The_ _District 2 girl._

His mother's words echoed in his mind. _Stay the_ _ **hell**_ _away from the others!_

Copper turned away from the girl, praying that she would just forget all about him. But the reaping recap had been agonizingly long for District 12...everyone would know about that measly red-haired boy who had captured the Capitol's attention with his fiery hair.

Still feeling the girl's eyes boring into his back, Copper tapped Cerritulus on the shoulder. "Um, Cerritulus? Can we please go to our rooms?" he lowered his voice. "The girl from District 2 is staring straight at me."

Cerritulus didn't even glance at the girl, which Copper was grateful for. She wouldn't know that he told his mentor about her.

"Of course, Copper," Cerritulus said, his eyes flickering up to the District 2 girl as she turned around to walk away. "We will go to The Penthouse, which is reserved for District 12. Isn't that lovely? But that won't be for a little while. Right now, I'm going to send you and Adeline off with your prep teams. Oh- here they are now!"

Copper looked over Cerritulus's shoulder. He barely had time to react before three Capitol stylists grabbed his arms, hauling him down the hall and away from the District 2 girl.

"You're going to need _so_ much done," one of them said, a blue-haired woman with abnormally long eyelashes.

"His hair won't need too much attention though," the blonde man of the trio piped. "It's so bright! I didn't realize some people could naturally be that way."

Copper's cheeks flushed. These people were so obsessed with looks. It was nauseating.

The third member of his prep team, a black woman with straight dark hair cut into a bob nudged him as they walked.

"Hey," she said, giving Copper a small smile. " I'm your main stylist, Livia. I'm going to be prepping you alongside these two weirdos. Don't worry, you won't be seeing them much after today."

Copper looked at her, a sense of relief washing over him. This woman, Livia, appeared to be almost normal. Thank goodness. "Thank you so much for helping get me ready," he said quietly, trying his best to look happy.

"It's no trouble at all!" Livia said, an edge of laughter in her words. "I have something _really_ cool in mind. You'll just have to wait until later to see!"

Copper found himself being dragged into what he guessed was the Remake Center, a large, echoing room filled with the other two members of his prep team went off to find "cosmetic tools", the third initiated a conversation with him.

"So...Copper," Livia said softly, "How are you holding up?"

Copper stared at her. _How am I holding up? Well, I was just taken away from my family, and I'm about to die in a couple days, so great! I'm doing great._

"...I'm not doing very well," he said honestly. "I- I want…" Copper tried to get the words out, tried to control the tears, but it was to no avail. He found himself crying in front of a woman he barely even knew.

Livia immediately took Copper into her arms. "I'm so, so sorry," she whispered soothingly. "I'm gonna help you, Copper. I'm gonna do my very best to make sure they remember your name."

The hug lasted for several minutes. It was something Copper didn't realize he needed desperately until that moment, but it still made him insanely uncomfortable. All this shit felt like a cheesy movie. Maybe life was just a cheesy movie then. It made dying seem less scary.

When they broke apart, he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. "Th-thank you," he said.

Being "prepped" _hurt_. Copper blinked tears from his eyes as nearly every part of his body was relentlessly waxed. Livia suggested to the other two that they leave the leg hair, but trim it down somewhat.

 _Thank God,_ Copper thought. _The less pain I endure before the Games, the better._ Then again...maybe it would be better to get used to the idea of hurting.

Livia excused herself from the room during his leg-hair trimming, sending a bout of uneasiness into Copper's chest.

The blue-haired woman yawned, saying, "She'll be back soon enough. Sorry, but you'll have to handle a little more, er, _prepping_ before she does."

"Prepping" definitely just meant "pain" to Copper.

After he was waxed, he underwent a _very_ heavy scrubbing. Copper's entire body was an angry red color and felt as if it was on fire. After he was scrubbed, the blonde man (his name was Aquilo) spread a soothing salve across the boy's body, numbing the pain he felt only seconds ago.

Finally, after literally hours, Livia entered the room. "Okay, Inferno-Boy! Time to look in the mirror!"

 _Inferno-Boy? What?_ Nevertheless, Copper sat up upon the table and looked directly into the mirror across from him.

The boy who stared back looked...nothing like him.

Copper's hair had been cut. Not majorly, but it was cleaned up very well, and there was definitely some sort of product in it. His face, chest, and lower body were no longer the horrible, splotched red they had been. Instead, everything was a pleasant shade of light pink.

He looked...clean. That was something hard to come by in District 12.

"Wow...I barely even recognize myself," Copper said truthfully, feeling himself blush for probably the hundredth time that day.

Aquilo snorted. "It's a good thing you don't recognize yourself, believe me."

Livia glared at her fellow stylist, clearly annoyed. "Okay Aquilo, you can go now! Bye-bye!"

Aquilo whipped out a nail file, trimming down one of his lime green nails. Without looking at her, he replied, "I need to bleach my hair anyway, Liv. See you later tonight."

The door slammed behind him, rattling the table that Copper sat upon. Livia shrugged humorously.

"Don't worry about him," she said, putting an arm on Copper's shoulder, "He loves being dramatic. I wouldn't take anything he says seriously if I were you."

Copper found himself _laughing_ for the first time in days.

"Okay," Livia began, "Since you're from District 12, I collaborated with your partner's stylist to come up with something coal-themed."

Copper felt his heart sink. _Oh no,_ he thought miserably. _Not those hideous coal-miner outfits again!_

Livia seemed to read his expression, because she smirked mischievously before whipping out what appeared to be a blueprint from her large bag.

Unravelling it, she brought it over to Copper. It certainly wasn't a coal-miner outfit...it was something else entirely.

The outfit in the blueprint appeared to be some kind of black skin-tight spandex adorned with glittering coal pieces and what seemed to be coal dust. Livia smiled at the look of shock on Copper's face.

"Now, I know it isn't traditional," she said, "But I figured maybe you were sick of seeing those ugly outfits District 12 wears every year. I hope this change is something you're okay with?"

Copper stared stared at her with wide eyes. "It's amazing," he whispered.

Livia laughed. "Why, thank you! Also, I know you've probably heard it more than enough by now, but I _love_ your hair. I think it'll go _great_ with your outfit; you'll look like coal that's burning with the heat of a thousand suns. Everyone will call you _The Inferno-Haired Boy_!"

 _The Inferno-Haired Boy._ It sounded strange to Copper, but he was so grateful for what Livia had done for him. Who would have guessed that the year he happened to be reaped, his stylist was actually decent?

"Thank you...for everything," Copper said, his eyes brimming with tears.

Livia rushed to hug him, dropping the blueprint to the floor. "Hey! No tears! You're gonna look _amazing_!"

Livia just finished applying the coal-like dusting to Copper's shoulders when a male stylist burst into the room, followed by Adeline.

"Copper!" she exclaimed, "You look great! I'm so happy that we aren't stupid _coal-miners_ this year! I bet we look the best out of anyone! And your _hair_! You look like you're _ignited_!"

Copper turned to see his friend wearing the same skin-tight spandex as himself, her body glittering triumphantly in the light. Adeline's pale hair was braided beautifully along the side of her head, and the blue of her eyes seemed to pop more than ever.

"You look awesome too, Adeline. I- I can't wait…" the words died on his lips. Copper heard awfully familiar voices.

The memories forced themselves up his throat without warning, paralyzing him as he collapsed onto the cold floor. 

" _Not looking too good, this year," Caesar Flickerman said._

" _Forgettable as always," Claudius Templesmith replied disappointedly. "But at least District 1 looks wonderful! Their jewels catch the light perfectly!"_

_Asher stood awkwardly in the District 12 chariot alongside a dangerously-thin girl from the Seam. He tried to wave, but the lurching of the carriage kept throwing him off balance. His hat, which didn't fit well, toppled off his head. The crowd booed obnoxiously as Asher stared at his feet, tears streaming down his young face._

"Copper?! Earth to Copper! Are you alright?"

Copper blinked before looking up into the worried eyes of Adeline. Livia and the other stylist knelt beside him, concerned expressions upon their faces.

"I'm-I'm fine," he said, though his voice shook slightly. "I just didn't feel well suddenly. "

Livia and Adeline's stylist looked uncomfortable, but his district partner looked at Copper with eyes of complete understanding.

"What's wrong?" Livia looked concerned.

Copper explained.

"Asher, right?" Adeline said softly. " Asher Undersee? He was your best friend. I'm sorry."

"You knew him?" Copper asked quietly.

"Not well, no. But I try to learn about them all. All the tributes from our district. But Copper, you're not Asher. You're stronger. You're older. You'll make an impression. Asher is watching you, from a place where districts don't exist. He's happy. He's safe."


	5. Chariot Ride

Copper stood close to Adeline. His anxiety was nestling itself deep in the pit of his stomach as it always did when he was nervous (which was more often than not). The chariots were all lined up at this point; the parade was only minutes away. Tributes were being escorted to their designated carriages before his eyes, but Copper was way too nervous to take any of them in very well.

"We definitely look the best," Adeline whispered in his ear. "Just try to calm down, okay? It's just...a little ride. That's all."

Copper nodded, though his eyes were still glazed over in fear. He followed his district partner into the chariot. It didn't help his nerves that they were the last one. _Maybe no one will notice us because of that,_ he prayed silently.

Cerritulus and Livia's words of encouragement and advice were cut off as the chariot lurched forward. Copper could see the back of the District 11 tributes, their diamond-encrusted overalls reflecting rainbow light onto the street. Glancing at Adeline, he saw her waving and smiling at the massive crowds of Capitol people.

As their chariot reached the limelight, Copper noticed _all_ of the massive screens depicted _them_. He looked up, seeing himself looking nervous but better than he ever had in his life. His suit glittered almost celestially, and his hair really did appear to be a burning blaze of fire. Adeline was stunning as well, she looked almost happy as she waved to the crowd.

Copper was relieved when the screens switched back to District 1, taking the attention away from himself and Adeline. The two Careers were decked-out in luxurious layers of metallic fuchsia. Shining crowns adorned both of their heads. Victoree blew kisses pretentiously as Cyan grinned next to her.

Behind them, the District 2 pair came, looks of aggression upon their faces. District 3 was close behind. The girl, Paschal, tugged at her wire-decorated sleeve. She didn't seem very keen on pretending to look excited.

District 4 was...a little less modest. Both of the tributes were shirtless, though large starfish covered the female tribute's chest. A golden trident was in Pike's hands. The boy's _very_ pronounced abdominal muscles earned shrieks of desperation from the crowd.

District 5 wore ivory skin-tight suits. A lightning bolt was painted on the opposite side of each of their faces, resembling electricity. Behind them, the boy from District 6 struggled to keep his eyes open as his fellow tribute stared apathetically ahead of them. They were dressed as...conductors, maybe? District 7 was, of course, the same as always. Only their faces could be seen amongst the awkward branches and trunks of the tree costumes they wore.

District 8 looked extremely bad. Both tributes seemed downright mortified. The outfits they wore were constructed of at least 10 different types of fabric. It looked as if someone had tried to do a puzzle, but jammed the pieces in all the wrong places.

District 9 was better. Their clothes were covered in shining brown sequins, probably to represent grain. District 10 wasn't much better than 8. The girl was dressed as a _cow_ , and the boy appeared to be a cowboy or rancher.

Cameras flashed everywhere. The wind whipped harshly in the faces of Copper and Adeline as the horses trotted onward. Despite his watering eyes, Copper managed to keep himself together.

The horses reached the circle in the center of the Capitol. District 12's chariot stopped abruptly next to 11's as Panem's National Anthem, "Horn of Plenty," began to play.

_Oh Horn of Plenty._

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

_And when you raise the cry_

_The brave shall heed the call_

_And we shall never falter._

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

_Oh Horn of Plenty._

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

_And when we raise the cry_

_The brave shall heed the call_

_And we shall never fall..._

Copper turned his head to the sound of laughter. The District 1 chariot stood across the circle, but one of its tributes were staring directly at _him_. Or maybe Adeline? He scowled involuntarily. Not again.

Cyan's green eyes bore into Copper as he tried to stifle his laughter. Victoree didn't seem to be paying attention; she was gazing up at the flashing lights as the anthem continued to play.

_Oh Horn of Plenty._

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

_And when we raise the cry_

_The brave shall heed the call_

_And we shall never falter._

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

Copper looked away, his temper flaring. Just because District 12 wasn't rich and snobby didn't mean that they were anything less than District 1. 

_Cheaters, that's all that District 1 is,_ he thought.

How dare that...that _Cyan_ idiot laugh at them? Copper was sick of District 12 being the laughing stock of the lot.

_Oh, Capitol_

_Your glorious diamond shine_

_A tribute to_

_The darkest days behind_

_One Horn of Plenty for us all!_

At the commencement of the anthem, the chariots turned on command and lurched back down the pavement to the Training Center. Copper glimpsed the back of the District 1 boy's crowned-head as his chariot entered the doors. 

_I'm going to give him a piece of my mind._

The dark horses pulled Adeline and himself back to the greeting eyes of Livia, Cerritulus, and Adeline's stylist. Copper didn't wait. He leapt over the side of the chariot, landing in a mess of tangled limbs on the floor.

"Ow, crap," he muttered.

Before anyone could yell at him or ask what exactly he was doing, Copper heaved himself up and walked briskly through the crowd. He ignored the staring eyes of the District 5 pair as he rushed past them. Behind the two, the boy from District 6 appeared to be unconscious on the floor. His district partner and mentor were attempting to shake him awake.

Victoree's face turned into one of obvious displeasure when she noticed the tiny red-headed boy angrily approaching the Career pack. "What is that weakling doing?" she said, nudging the District 2 boy in the side.

All six of the Careers turned to face Copper. His blood immediately turned to ice. _Get a grip,_ he told himself. _They can't kill me yet._

However, if looks could kill, he would've been dead the moment the group laid eyes on him.

Copper didn't care. "What was so incredibly funny back there?” he spat, finally reaching the Careers. They were all taller than him To make matters worse, they seemed to be even more menacing in person.

Selene, the District 2 girl, smirked. "What's got your panties in a twist, fire-crotch?"

Copper felt himself turning bright red. He glared at the District 1 boy, refusing to look away.

When he spoke, his voice came out shakily. "District 1 was laughing at m-my partner and I during the anthem. You think we're funny? Well, at least we're n-not the Capitol's despicable little d-doormats. At least we contribute something _necessary_ , not a b-bunch of _luxury_ garbage like yourselves."

Victoree's eyes flashed. "You listen to me, you son of a bitch-,"

Cyan put his hand on her shoulder. "Victoree, stop. It's my fault. I _was_ laughing―But not _at_ you." he said in that same husky voice, looking down at Copper sheepishly. "I was just admiring your hair. In District 1, we like bright and shiny things. It's hard for me to avoid staring at stuff like that. You both looked really impressive."

Copper didn't believe the arrogant boy in the slightest. "Yeah okay, whatever," he said skeptically. "Stay away from me."

Flint smirked. "Yeah, we'll stay away from you...for now." His words sent a chorus of laughter erupting from the Career pack, though Cyan only smiled. Meeting Copper's eyes, he shrugged.

Copper turned on his heel and stumbled pathetically away from them, tears spilling from his eyes.

 _Oh no, no, no. Why did I do that? They all hate me now. And they're_ _**Careers**_ _. I'm so screwed. Why did I care so much? And I couldn't even speak right. Why can't I do anything right? Why did it even matter-_

"Copper, what the heck did you just do?"

He looked up to see Adeline. She actually seemed genuinely concerned.

"The Careers were laughing at us during the parade so I…" he trailed off.

"So you what? You went and called them out? Copper, how stupid are you? We're supposed to _avoid_ the Careers, not pick fights with them!"

Copper bowed his head in defeat. "I know," he said quietly, "I just couldn't stand to see them making fun of us like that. I _never_ stand up for myself. I thought it was about time to. But now I can see that doing that was a mistake. But I can't win the Hunger Games, anyway. So I might as well not put up with their bullshit for as long as they can't hurt me."

Adeline shook her head. "Yeah, you bet it was a mistake. I swear Copper, if you're a prime target of theirs after that little stunt, this alliance is over."

Copper felt his heart sink. He hadn't thought about how his actions would impact Adeline.

It was no use. The girl turned and walked off.. _What have I done?_

Copper could see Livia in his peripheral vision, talking to Cerritulus excitedly. Approaching them sluggishly, he asked, "Can I please go to bed now?"

Cerritulus didn't seem to notice the boy's puffy eyes and dejected expression. "Of course, Copper! Let me take you and Adeline to The Penthouse right now! Um, where is she?"

Copper looked away. "I don't know. I think she's already up there."

Cerritulus gasped melodramatically. "She went without us?! I was so excited to lead you _both_ there! Well, no matter, I'll just escort you!"

The man grabbed Copper's arm, steering him towards the doors of the elevator.


	6. First Impressions

_"In two weeks,_ _ **23**_ _of you will be dead._ _ **One**_ _of you will be alive. Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days,_ _ **particularly to what I am about to say**_ _. First, no fighting with the other tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. There are four compulsory exercises, the rest will be individual training. My advice is don't ignore the survival skills. Most of you will die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration._ _ **Exposure**_ _can kill as easily as a knife."_

-Atala, _The Hunger Games_

The Penthouse was the 12th and final floor of the skyscraper attached to the Training Center. It was an echoey, dark apartment that had an unfriendly chill to it. Avoxes stood silently on either side of the entrance, their heads bowed low. Copper wondered what they had done that caused the Capitol to enslave them.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Cerritulus, Livia, Cornelia (Adeline's stylist), Copper, and Adeline sat around a circular table in the center of the dining room. An Avox delivered several trays of food, the main course being a roasted pig.

"Ah, yes, thank you, thank you," Cerritulus chirped happily, immediately beginning to hack away at the meat. The Avox nodded in response before exiting the room. Copper followed her outline as she disappeared.

"Why can't they talk?" he asked. "Are they forbidden to?"

Cerritulus looked up from his plate of food. Adeline's eyes flickered in the man's direction, clearly awaiting a response.

"Well, you see…" Cerritulus began. "Avoxes are...criminals. Rebels, if you want to call them that. Typically they would have committed some kind of treason against the Capitol. As punishment, they become servants to tributes and citizens here. It is quite generous of the Capitol, if you ask me. Traitors are often killed."

Adeline stopped chewing. "So they're slaves, I get it," she said, pushing the plate away from her. "You know what? I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed."

The girl rolled her eyes and huffed dramatically when she saw the shocked looks upon everyone else's faces. "What?" she said disgustedly. "I wouldn't expect a bunch of _Capitolites_ to understand."

Copper watched her strut away. Adeline had a point. How could Cerritulus be so casual about slavery? Even Livia didn't seem too concerned with the Avox's presence.

_Then again,_ Copper thought, _Even Livia is a mindless "Capitolite." She probably doesn't even know what District 12 looks like. Actually, she probably doesn't even know what_ _ **coal**_ _looks like._

_**Coal.** _

His district token! Copper's heart began to beat wildly in his chest. "Cerritulus! Do you have my clothes?! The ones I wore on the train?!"

Cerritulus blinked. "Unfortunately, no, I do not. But I saved that lumpy piece of coal that was in the pocket of your shorts when I, um, burned them. The Capitol asks that we dispose of the clothes tributes arrive on the train in. I left the coal on the nightstand in your room."

Copper breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks for saving it. I was really worried for a second."

Cerritulus shrugged. "Yes, yes, you're welcome. It _is_ my job to take care of you."

His bedroom was nice, but not exactly very welcoming. The floor was made of a cold, purplish marble that sent shivers down Copper's spine. A window overlooked the dazzling city behind the Training Center, its lights flickering in front of the snow-capped mountains behind it.

The hologrammed television on the wall glowed artificially. It cast a pale blue light upon the room. Except for a large bed that sat in the center of the room and a small nightstand, that was everything in the room.

The television was on. But what was being shown?

Copper stood before it, the scenes upon it reflecting in his startled eyes.

It was _that_ program. He had seen it before, for it was one of the few channels (actually, one of three) that District 12 broadcasted (controlled by the Capitol, of course).

_Greatest Moments in Hunger Games History._

A girl with serious burns was shown backing away from three armed tributes, clearly the remaining Careers. Losing her footing on the craggy ledge, she slipped. The camera followed her as she plunged through the air only to land in _molten lava_.

The volcano arena.

The girl let out a strangled cry. Her body immediately caught fire as she was consumed, the skin on her face dissolving, her body melting away from the bone…

Copper backed away from the screen, overcome with intense vertigo.

He barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting messily into the toilet.

_I'm going to die, and there's nothing I can do to stop it._

After emptying his stomach, Copper returned to the bedroom. Turning off the television without looking at it, he curled up on the plush bed.

_Maybe dying won't be so bad after all,_ he thought.

The Capitol took him away from his family to show District 12 that they were inferior. The deaths of the tributes were nothing more than entertainment to them.

_But what if I gave my death some kind of meaning? What if I didn't die fighting? What if I chose not to become one of those desperate, insane kids I see on the screens every year?_

Copper wasn't a hero. He knew that. He would die just like the others. Like Asher.

_If I know going to die,_ he pondered, _then what will I do in the arena? What will keep me going until my time is up?_

He wasn't sure why, but Adeline's face appeared in his mind. She was no ordinary District 12 tribute. The way she didn't take any sort of nonsense from anybody proved that.

She might stand a chance at seeing their home again, even if Copper didn't. She was there for Copper these past few days when no one else was.

_I can't live for myself. But I can live for Adeline. I'll do my best to protect her, to make sure she survives even if I die._

_Cerritulus looked up from the slip of paper, gazing out at the crowd, enthusiasm dancing in his cold eyes._

" _Copper Hurst!"_

No one would even remember his name.

.

.

.

_Children in District 1 almost always seem to take pride in competing in the Hunger Games, and are among the group of tributes who band together to pick off the weaker contestants, known as_ _**Careers**_ _._

-The Hunger Games Wiki

.

.

.

Copper awoke to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door. "Um, come in," he said, blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

Livia walked into the room with a black, gray, and red outfit. The number "12" was on the back of the shirt as well as on each of its short sleeves.

"Your outfit for training today," she said. "You have an hour until you need to be in the underground room with the other tributes. I'd try to eat something; you'll need your strength for whatever you choose to work on."

Copper sat up in bed. "Thanks, Livia. I guess I'll see you at dinner?"

"Of course. Good luck, Copper."

Sighing, he entered the shower. The water was cold, but in a way that was a good thing. He would need to be completely awake to handle today's events.

Copper clumsily ran his gel-covered fingers through his hair. Livia had suggested doing this, saying he would concentrate better if it was out of his eyes. She also added that it "looked nice", which couldn't hurt.

The training uniform was a spandex-type material that felt quite comfortable against his skin as he put it on. _I might as well be comfortable if I'm going to suffer._

Adeline was already eating when Copper entered the dining area. Her mouth was full of food, but that didn't stop her from saying, "Hey No-Soul."

Copper feigned annoyance. "Hey alliance-breaker."

Adeline's eyes grew wide with shock, but she quickly disguised it with a frown. "Oh shut up, Copper. You know I was just mad. We're still allies, okay? I mean, if you want to be. I doubt the Careers will even remember you."

Surprisingly, she was half-correct.

The underground training room looked almost like a dungeon. On a platform near the ceiling sat the Gamemakers. They stared down at the tributes with drinks in their hands. Many trainers were present. They seemed to be readying the equipment for usage.

Copper snuck tentative glances at his fellow competitors. The Careers stood against the wall, talking and laughing as if they had been friends all their lives.

The District 3 pair sat on a bench nearby. The boy was polishing his glasses and talking while the girl stared dejectedly at nothing at all.

Volant, the District 6 girl, stood alone near the exit doors. She tapped her foot feverishly. Where was her district partner?

The small Asian girl from District 7 climbed a net in the corner of the room while both tributes from District 9 watched curiously from a few feet away.

"Tributes! Please make your way to the center of the room!"

Copper tore his gaze away from the District 7 girl. A tall, intimidating-looking man in a black tracksuit was motioning for them to join him.

Copper saw Adeline amongst the others, and he quickly joined her near the outside of the circle the tributes were forming.

"My name is Fulvio," The man said. "As some of you may already know, I am the Head Trainer for the Hunger Games. Before we get started, I want to go over a few rules and share some advice with you all."

Copper's heart hammered in his chest.

"First, no fighting with anyone," Fulvio said. "You'll have _plenty_ of time for that later. There are twenty different stations set up for your benefit. I'd suggest attending almost all of them. Everyone is eager to show off combat, but that won't be helpful if you end up dying of dehydration 3 days into the Games."

The Careers smirked. Copper felt his underarms begin to sweat.

"Lunch will be provided at 12:00. If no one has any questions, you're dismissed."

Everyone began to file slowly away. Copper was caught off guard when Fulvio said, "Oh, and don't waste any time. _Some of you_ will need as much help as you can get."

The Careers dispersed from one another, much to Copper's surprise. Selene, Quay, and Cyan went to the hand-to-hand combat station while Flint and Pike walked confidently to the spear-throwing area.

Copper knew he should work on learning to obtain freshwater, but the station was currently packed with five other tributes, including Adeline. Instead, he decided to work on using a weapon. But which one?

His eyes landed on the bow-and-arrows lining the back wall. Targets were placed several yards from them.

_They're human-shaped._

But no one was over there.

Copper slowly ran his hand over the sleek, silver bow. He tentatively picked it up. It was _heavy_.

Or maybe he was just weak.

He drew an arrow from the quiver and carefully aligned it. Pulling back on the string, Copper fired it.

"Ow!" he yelped. The string had smacked his hand, and the arrow was...several feet away, lying pathetically on the ground. Copper heard a laugh behind him.

Victoree.

He turned to meet her vindictive eyes. The girl leered at him before approaching a golden bow. She grabbed an entire quiver and plucked an arrow daintily from it.

Pulling back the bowstring, Victoree fired.

The arrow landed dead-center in the middle of the human-shaped target. Copper shuddered.

Victoree turned to him. "See that?" she pointed at the target. "That's gonna be you someday."

Copper avoided eye-contact with the blonde Career as he put his bow-and arrow back with the others.

Cerritulus's voice whispered urgently to him in the back of his mind.

" _Yes, they have an advantage because of this, but Career tributes typically know very little about survival skills."_

Survival skills. Which one should he start with?

Copper looked around the room. The edible plants station had only one other tribute there. The girl from District 8 didn't appear very intimidating as she played some kind of computerized memorization game.

"Hey," he said quietly, standing awkwardly next to the girl. "What's this?"

She didn't even look at him as her fingers danced along the touch-screen controls. "It's a memorization game for poisonous plants." Her voice was very high.

"Oh, okay." Copper looked away, unsure of what else to say.

"Would you like to try?"

The question caught him off guard. Surprisingly, the girl was smiling at him. Her warm brown eyes held no trace of hostility, but there was a tinge of sadness in them. Or was Copper only imagining it?

"You want to match up the plants that are poisonous. It takes a couple rounds before you're able to know which ones are safe and which ones aren't. Have a go! I'm Paisley, by the way. What's your name?" The girl pulled a frizzy lock of her red hair behind an ear, waiting to hear his reply.

"I'm Copper," he said, feeling heat rise into his cheeks. "From District 12."

Paisley laughed. "Obviously!" she said. "The '12' on your shirt is a dead giveaway."

Copper looked at his sleeve. He could feel himself turning even redder. "Oh, I forgot about that. Sorry."

The girl laughed again. "That's okay! Play the game. I'm going to find my district partner. But it was nice meeting you! We should eat lunch together!"

Copper tried to detect any sort of deceit in her expression, but there wasn't one to be found. Perhaps she was actually just being nice?

"Oh, er, sure," he said, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "I guess I'll see you then."

He _really_ didn't want to go making friends with people who would be trying to kill him in the next few days. She seemed like a nice girl, though.

Paisley let out a "yay!" before walking over to the hand-to-hand combat station where a tall, skinny boy with black hair in a bowl-cut stood. He clutched a spear awkwardly as a trainer attempted to show him proper technique.

Copper did his best to begin matching the plants.

_Horse nettle. Pokeberries. Dogwood. Nightshade. Holly. Wisteria._

_All toxic._

A large "X" appeared over one of the berries he had marked as safe to eat. They were blueberries, weren't they?

_NIGHTLOCK- Native to District 12. Highly poisonous. Inhibits cellular respiration resulting in the inability to create ATP. Death results in 1-4 minutes._

Copper felt a wave of dread wash over him. What if he hadn't come to this station? He very well could've eaten those "nightlock" berries in the arena.

_Don't think about it,_ he told himself. _What's important is that you_ _ **won't**_ _eat those berries because you know now that they're bad._

"Whoa, nice job, Inferno-Boy! But you got the one from your district wrong. Guess you're not the outdoorsy type, huh?"

Copper whirled around. He knew that voice.

_Oh no._

Arms crossed, his ivory teeth gleaming in a confident smile...was _Cyan_.

He stared at the boy.

"...Well, I meant that as a compliment," Cyan began sheepishly, "But judging by your expression, you didn't take it as one."

Copper turned back to the screen. He didn't say anything.

Unfortunately, Cyan didn't go away.

Copper sighed. "Shouldn't yyou be with your… you kn-know…" he said shakily.

_That stupid stutter. It always comes about when I'm upset!_

"My what?" Cyan said, amusement in his voice.

Copper ended the game and turned to Cyan. Not looking at him, he said, "Your allies. The other Careers?"

The District 1 boy's expression fell. "Oh, them." he said. "Well, they're all just showing off their skills with weapons. I'd rather not be so obvious about what I can do, plus…" he bent down, reaching Copper's height, "None of them know anything about surviving in the wilderness. I figured at least _one_ of us should know something."

Copper met the boy's eyes and nodded. _Green, just like all the other District 1 people. I hate green._

He didn't hate green. But that's what he told himself at that moment.

Cyan exhaled. "So, how old are you? I'm eighteen."

This time, Copper was determined to not look away in cowardice. "Seventeen," he muttered.

Cyan laughed. "I get the feeling that you don't like me much. Want me to go away?"

Copper didn't know what to say. _Of course I don't like you!_ he thought. _You're from District 1. You always kill my district's tributes in the bloodbath. And you don't even care._

Why was Cyan even talking to him?

_Maybe District 1 people really are obsessed with bright things_ , Copper thought, twirling a lock of his hair nervously.

Fulvio saved him from having to reply. "Everyone to the cafeteria! I expect you all to be finished eating and ready to continue training in forty-five minutes!"

Copper abandoned the plant-memorizing station without a second thought, ignoring Cyan's question.

Hopefully he knew the answer now.

.

.

.

_The bridge in District 8 was slick with ice. It was December, and the Victory Tour had just ended. That District 1 killer, Crystal, had graced the place with her presence only a few days ago._

_Three elementary-aged girls huddled close together as they walked to the factories. They wore palettes of colorful fabric, something not common in other districts._

" _What happened to Loom?" one of the girls asked, her hair billowing in the icy wind. "I haven't seen him in months."_

_The silky, dark-haired girl looked over at her. "Weft told me he died in the Hunger Games," she said sadly. "He's not coming back, not ever."_

_._

_._

_._

Copper met up with Adeline, who had already gotten to know Paisley and her district partner, Weft at the hand-to-hand combat station.

The four found a table in the back corner. They were the only group other than the Careers. Everyone else sat alone or with their district partner.

"District 8 sucks," Paisley said, her mouth full of sandwich. "I have to work at a textile factory that makes Peacekeeper uniforms every day!" She swallowed. "Sometimes, my shifts last for _hours_. Do either of you have to work?"

Copper and Adeline shook their heads. 

_School_ _ **and**_ _work?_ Copper thought. _District 8 really does seem awful._

Paisley shrugged. "Your district seems nice, despite it being an outlying one. So much open space. I wish District 8 was like that. We all live in these cramped tenements. There's a huge river that runs down the middle of everything, but this giant steel bridge is over it. I have to cross it to get to the factories every day."

An awkward silence filled the air over the four tributes.

_What can I say that won't sound pessimistic?_

The other three were surprised when Weft spoke. "That Career boy is looking at you, Copper."

Copper felt a pulse of anxiety permeate throughout his chest. He turned around.

Victoree, Selene, Quay, and Pike had their backs to him, though Flint and Cyan's faces could be seen. The District 2 boy was talking to Quay, his hands moving through the air excitedly.

Cyan, on the other hand, was _staring at Copper_. His face was plastered in a huge grin, though the other Careers didn't seem to notice.

Copper spun back around to face the others, who were looking at him expectedly.

"Well?" Adeline said accusingly, trying to get him to fuss up. "Why is he smiling at you?"

Copper bit his lip.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "He tried to talk to me today at the plant-memorizing station, but I ignored him."

Adeline looked uncomfortable. "Oh, okay. Try to avoid him. Maybe he'll forget about you."

"Alright."

Weft's eyes flickered over behind Copper's ear. "He's not looking at you anymore."

Copper breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I hope he doesn't talk to me again."

Cyan didn't approach him for the rest of training that day. Instead, the blonde-haired boy stood against the wall, his arms crossed, a smug expression on his face. He didn't seem to be making an effort to practice anything at all.

Copper spent the rest of his time at the water station with Weft. The instructor showed them how to apply iodine properly to it ("If you manage to find tablets at the Cornucopia!").

Paisley and Adeline could be seen at the bow-and-arrow station. Adeline wasn't doing very well, but Paisley managed to hit the target more often than not, even if it wasn't in the place she had been aiming for.

Finally, training ended for the day. The tributes filed to the exit doors.

Copper stood in the elevator with Adeline, Paisley, and Weft. The latter two said goodbye as the doors opened on District 8's floor.

As soon as they were gone, Adeline sighed exasperatedly. "Why on _earth_ did we become friends with them, Copper? Paisley is _so nice_ , to the point where I can barely stand her. I don't want to go getting attached to people that'll be dead in a month!"

Copper shrugged. "If I'm going to die, I want to die knowing I had friends. But I agree. We aren't friends with them just because we ate lunch with them and went to a few training stations with them. We don't have to spend time with them tomorrow."

"Don't think like that, Copper," Adeline said. "You can't just say ' _if I'm going to die'_. We had our time on the train to be all depressed and whiny. We could win this thing if we try hard enough."

Copper stared at her. Adeline's shift in attitude from hopeless to actually thinking she stood a chance in the arena confused him. Then again, he also was vascilating between complete hopelessness and a "what-if" attitude.

" _We?_ One of us will be dead no matter what, Adeline. But you're right. _You_ have to win. You need to go home, back to District 12. I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Adeline looked as if she was about to cry. "Copper...what? Why help me? Why not just help yourself?"

He stared at the floor. "I have no chance of winning. I know that, you know that, Cerritulus knows that…" he didn't want to say that his family knew that as well. "...But you could win," he continued. "You have that drive, Adeline. I'm going to die...so the least I can do is make sure _one_ of District 12's tributes survives, even if it isn't me."

_It's the right thing to do._

_I have to make sure she goes home...she'll move to the Victors' Village and live to be a nice, ripe old age…_

Adeline pulled him into a tight hug. Some of her hair was in his mouth, but Copper found he didn't care much as the tears began to leak from his eyes.

"No, Copper," Adeline said. "We're going to be there for each other. We'll stay with one another every step of the way. Whatever happens in that arena, we won't give up on one another. Agreed?"

"A-Agreed." That cheesiness was back. Life was cheesy, apparently. Especially if you were facing certain death.

The elevator had reached the penthouse. The two tributes walked through the doors and past the Avoxes, only to run into a very stunned-looking Cerritulus.

"Children! Why on earth are you crying?" he asked, his silvery eyes wide with shock.

Adeline rolled her eyes, another tear sliding down her rosy cheek. "Oh, you know," she said shakily, "Just typical Hunger Games emotions."

The man looked very taken-aback at Adeline's apparent breakdown. To Copper's shock, he walked to them, arms outstretched, and pulled the two children into a hug.

He may have always acted shallow, but Copper sensed that their mentor was growing attached to his District 12 tributes.

"You both better try your very best out there," he said quietly into Copper's shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost the _both_ of you."

Adeline pulled away stiffly. "But...you lose us every year. District 12 kids _always_ die in the Hunger Games."

_She's right. What does he mean?_

Cerritulus wiped his eyes, but Copper didn't see any tears. "Well, I...I suppose I've become rather fond of the both of you. It's not often my tributes don't ignore me. And it's taxing...very taxing...to meet new children every year only to watch them...disappear. I'm...I'm not sure I'll be able to continue being the escort after this year."

Copper was stunned. He didn't know what to say. Apparently, Adeline didn't either.

_I wonder what Asher thought of Cerritulus._

"Anyway!" Cerritulus clapped his hands together, immediately dissipating the emotional atmosphere. "It's time to eat dinner and discuss more about your interviews!"

Adeline groaned, but smiled when Copper looked over at her. "I'm going to be the sassiest girl you've ever seen during my interview, Inferno-Boy," she said. "Just you wait and see."

.

.

.

**Paisley** or **paisley** pattern is an ornamental textile design using the boteh (Persian: بته‎) or buta, a teardrop-shaped motif with a curved upper end.


	7. Exceptional

_Asher's parents stood on a platform in the District 12 square, their son's holographic image on the screen behind them. To their left, the family of the fallen tribute girl glared at the District 1 victor. She stood before the Justice Building, a notecard clamped in her sweaty hands._

" _The tributes of this district were brave and noble warriors," Crystal said robotically. "I thank them for their courage and for their sacrifice, for it is only when something is given up that we can truly appreciate what we have. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."_

_._

_._

_._

Quay grunted as she swung her sword at the dummy. The weapon pierced its neck, sending the head toppling to the floor with a loud _smack_. She threw her head back and laughed before high-fiving Selene, who gripped a sickle in her hand.

Copper tore his gaze away from the girls as he continued tying a trap designed to capture rabbits. Adeline was at the fire-starting station, kneeling down with an instructor over a tinder nest. The two had avoided interacting with Paisley and Weft today; they didn't want to feel even worse when the Games began.

Annua, the girl from District 10 was several feet away from him. He kept sneaking glances at her snare in an attempt to copy it.

_Isn't there anything I can do on my own?_ he thought.

The District 7 boy (was his name Leif?) swung an axe wildly at transparent human-shaped targets that ran at him. His partner stood beside him, wielding a hatchet somewhat clumsily.

_Maybe she never used one back home,_ Copper thought.

He had noticed several treadmills placed near some weights earlier that day. _I'm good at running_. _If there's one thing I should show the Gamemakers, it's that._

Copper saw Volant and her district partner Axle sitting on the floor nearby. The boy had his head in his hands. _Morphling withdrawal must be horrendous._

"He's addicted to morphling, a pain drug, you know."

Copper jumped. _Great._

He looked to his right, only to see an all-too familiar pair of green eyes gazing down at him.

"I'm aware." _Why was he so tall?_

Cyan grinned. "I didn't think you would. Nice, Inferno-Boy."

Copper tried to glare at him, but it came out looking more like a pathetic frown. "Just because I'm from District 12 doesn't mean I'm stupid," he said indignantly.

The other boy's face fell. "I wasn't trying to say that."

Copper hid his shaking hands behind his back. "Yes, y-you were. Why else would you say that?"

_Let him go away._

Cyan shrugged. "You just seem...innocent? Like you haven't been exposed to stuff like that."

_What, and you have?_

Copper thought about the nicotine addiction in District 12. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"I guess maybe I don't, huh? Well, stay smart. If you do, maybe you'll stand a chance in the Games."

And he walked away. _Fuck off._

Copper turned in the opposite direction to find Adeline.

The girl had her hands pressed against the heat of the small fire she had started. "Coming to join me, _Inferno-Boy?_ " she said, smirking at Copper.

"Can we please stop with this Inferno-Boy thing?" he asked. "It's getting annoying. I kind of hate it."

"Sure, Cop. Whatever you say."

"Thanks."

The two sat in silence by the fire for a few moments.

"So, tomorrow's the last day of training…" Adeline trailed off.

Copper stared into the fire. It hurt his eyes, but he didn't look away. "Yeah."

"Are you ready?"

He looked up at her. She didn't look as confident now. Was she losing hope already? "I suppose I'll never _really_ be ready," he said. "But I'm starting to realize that no one, even the Careers, are really prepared for what's coming."

.

.

.

Then came the last day in the training center.

Copper found himself with Adeline at the dartgun station. He liked this weapon more than the bow-and-arrows, mostly because it was easier to load and fire. It wasn't absurdly heavy, and it also wasn't a weapon that most people ended up using.

Unfortunately, he was still pretty hopeless at actually _hitting_ something. Out of ten shots, only one of his darts ended up hitting the target.

Nevertheless, Copper stared happily on, his shot stuck in the target's right arm. It barely was within the lines, but he still had hit it.

Adeline was better. She rarely missed, but her shots didn't often hit its center. "I'll definitely have to show the Gamemakers this!" she exclaimed.

Speaking of the Gamemakers, Copper was nervous about what _he_ was going to show them at his private training evaluation. He could run, but that didn't seem like enough. Maybe he could play the plant-memorization game? He knew all of them by heart now.

.

.

.

The District 8 pair came to sit with them at lunch.

"Sorry that we didn't sit with you guys yesterday," Paisley said guiltily. "I guess we just wanted some time to ourselves." she looked back and forth between Adeline and Copper. "You know what I mean, right?"

Neither of the Disrict 12 tributes felt compelled to say that they were actually glad that they hadn't made contact with the District 8 pair the previous day.

Adeline nodded. "Of course. Copper and I felt the same way. I guess it's just hard making friends when...you know…"

An awkward silence filled the table.

_It's true,_ Copper thought. _If they tried to hurt Adeline, I would...I would fight them._

Weft stared at his feet. "Paisley, maybe we should go. Adeline's right. We can't be friends."

The frizzy-haired girl gaped at him.

Copper felt sick. _They're right._

Adeline looked down at the floor.

After a long pause, Paisley said, "O-Okay," trying but failing to hide the sudden realization she'd had. "I guess...I guess we'll see you guys...um, some other time."

The two got up from the table, taking their lunches with them.

Adeline let out a frustrated sigh. "I pray to God that they die before we have to kill them," she said.

Copper dug his nails into his palms, trying to think of what exactly to say to that.

"I couldn't kill either of them," he finally whispered. "Not unless they tried to hurt you or me, and I don't think that's going to happen."

"You're _so_ naive Copper!" Adeline muttered a little too loudly. "Paisley is nice, okay, whatever. But the second we get into that arena, she'll turn her back on everyone but herself. And Weft...he's creepy. He's so quiet, trying not to get attached like that. Do you know what that means?"

Copper shook his head, causing her to roll her eyes. "It _means_ he doesn't want to feel guilty if he has to watch us die."

.

.

.

The penthouse was dark. Even the avoxes had left, meaning that it was very late.

Copper couldn't sleep. Tomorrow he'd be going into his training evaluation, which could be the difference between life and death. Sponsors may avoid him if his score was too low.

There was no way he was going to be getting rest any time soon. What he needed was some fresh air.

_Didn't Cerritulus say something about a rose garden on the roof?_ he wondered.

.

.

.

Copper stepped out of the elevator and into the cool night air. Dozens of rose bushes gleamed in the moonlight. Or was it the Capitol-light?

Nevertheless, it was breathtakingly beautiful. All of the flowers were a pure, delicate white. He had never seen ones like these before. In District 12, red roses were all that existed.

_Nothing says perfection like white,_ President Snow always said. The 44-year old leader had been leering over the districts for as long as Copper could remember. He was a rather quiet and composed man, but stories suggested that there was a violently dark side to him.

Copper walked through the garden. He was on top of the tallest building in the Capitol. The dazzling lights and streets below him seemed like a world away.

He looked down, a wave of dizziness overcoming him. _What if I fell?_

"It's no use. Jumping, I mean," a brittle voice called from the bushes.

Copper jumped. "Hello?"

For a moment, there was no reply. Then, just as he was about to rush back to the elevator, a girl emerged from the garden.

Her hair was probably a dark blonde, but in the moonlight it appeared to be almost gray. A white rose was tucked beneath several strands, giving her an angelic appearance. She looked heavenly, as if she wasn't from this world.

"My name is Millet," she said, her voice cracking between the two syllables. "Like the grain. I guess you know what district I'm from now."

Copper was mesmerized by her bizarre aura. "District 9," he said quietly.

She nodded. "And you're Copper, Copper Hurst. The Inferno-Haired Boy. Is your personality as fiery as your hair?"

He was taken aback by her question. Typically, people didn't ask him things like that. The way the girl spoke was strange and overly formal. Her foot tapped rhythmically against the roof.

"No," he said. "I'm not that kind of person...never have been." _Why am I telling her this?_

"Me neither," Millet responded.

Silence filled the air.

Copper turned to walk away, but he stopped when she said, "The Capitol thinks the Hunger Games keeps fire in check, but they're wrong."

Her words jumbled around in Copper's mind. _What does she mean?_

He didn't ask.

"What did you say about jumping?" he said instead.

Millet looked away. "I tried to. But something flung me back up here. Probably a force-field."

Copper stared down at the busy streets below.

_The girl must be suicidal to try something like that._

"I'm _not_ suicidal," she said angrily.

Copper stared. "How did you know that I…?"

"Sometimes, I can sense things about people. Most would call it _intuition,_ but I call it _magic,"_ Millet smiled sadly, adding, "I even knew I was going to be picked for the Hunger Games this year. I felt it coming on a few days before the Reaping. I made sure to tell my parents I loved them, like, a thousand times."

Copper didn't know whether or not to believe the girl. It seemed as if _she_ believed it to be true, so he would give her the benefit of the doubt. "Can you sense anything about me?" he asked curiously.

She stared off at the snow-capped mountains in the distance for a moment. "I usually can't do it on command." Copper frowned. "But," she said, "I can't be sure, but I don't doubt that you'll make it very far in the Hunger Games this year." she paused. "You might even _win_."

Copper's heart began to beat very fast. " _Me_? Make it very far? I don't think so."

Millet shrugged. "It's just a feeling I had. Come to think of it, it's fleeting. I'm not sure what I see now, if anything at all."

She tugged the rose from her hair. Copper watched as it fell, only for it to be blown over the edge of the skyscraper.

A moment later, the rose rebounded, landing silently at his feet.

Millet smiled. "Well, goodnight, Inferno-Boy."

She walked back to the elevator, her white nightgown flowing behind her. She really did look like a ghost.

Copper sighed. _Millet_. He now knew the name of another tribute.

He prayed that he wouldn't encounter her in the arena.

.

.

.

A _**very**_ _young Caesar Flickerman was on the screen. "And finally, onto District 12," he said, glancing down at the papers in front of him. "Asher Undersee...with a score of...4."_

.

.

.

Copper awoke the following morning, wondering if his conversation with Millet had been a dream.

He only realized that he hadn't imagined the girl when he spotted a white rose petal on the floor by his bed. It must've stuck to his clothing when he brushed past the bushes in the garden.

Still, something about the previous night didn't seem quite...real.

Her broken voice rang in his ears." _The Capitol thinks the Hunger Games keeps fire in check, but they're wrong."_

What did she mean by that? Was she talking about him? True, he did have fiery hair, but that wasn't something worthy of "keeping in check". Perhaps he could ask her later?

_No, Copper. Don't talk to her again. It'll only make things harder._

.

.

.

Cerritulus was obsessive about both he and Adeline doing their absolute best in the training evaluations.

"Remember to be very polite!" he said anxiously. "Don't forget to state your name and district as well. By the time it's your turn, they may be restless. Make sure to be _engaging._ "

"Restless?" Adeline said, clearly alarmed. "Shouldn't the Gamemakers pay attention to us just as much as they do to the other districts?"

Cerritulus put a hand on her shoulder. "It's not right, I'm aware. The Gamemakers typically only express interest in the Career tributes," Adeline bit her lip. "But," he continued, "If you do something exceptionally interesting, they will be forced to notice you."

_But there's nothing exceptional about me…_

.

.

.

The elevator ride to the underground training room seemed to last a lifetime. Copper had his hands shoved in the pockets of his training uniform; he didn't want Adeline to know he was shaking again.

His left hand squeezed the lump of coal in his pocket. _It'll be fine._

.

.

.

"Obdurate, Victoree," the robotic voice called.

Copper looked up from the bench he and Adeline sat upon. Victoree walked confidently down the hallway and into the training room.

The door shut behind her with a loud _smack._ Copper jumped, slipping off the bench and onto the cold floor.

_Everyone's_ heads turned. He caught a glimpse of Cyan over the back of the District 10 boy's head. Of course the District 1 tribute was laughing.

Adeline grabbed him by the back of his collar and slammed him back down beside her. "Try not to look so pathetic," she whispered harshly.

.

.

.

"Cordierite, Cyan."

The boy leapt to his feet and walked eagerly in the same direction Victoree had.

Just before entering the doors, Cyan turned, smiling and giving a big thumbs up...

to _Copper_.

He felt himself begin to sweat. _Calm down, he's just…_

_I don't know._

Apparently the District 2 pair thought the thumbs up was directed at them, because Flint called out, "Kill it, Cyan!"

But Copper knew better.

And so did Adeline. She gave him a suspicious look, but didn't say anything.

.

.

.

"Aileron, Axle."

The number of tributes waiting began to dwindle.

.

.

.

"Truss, Pastern."

The boy from District 10 left.

.

.

.

"Fall, Adeline."

She squeezed Copper's hand before heading down the hall. He must've looked terrified because she looked back at him and laughed. "Your turn isn't for a little longer," she said. "So try to...look less afraid."

"I'll try," he mumbled, before rolling his eyes at the girl.

_What am I going to do?_ he thought urgently. _Okay, calm down. First, play the stupid plant game. Then run maybe two miles on the treadmill? If there's still time, try using one of the dart guns._

.

.

.

Adeline emerged from the training room roughly fifteen minutes later.

"Do okay?" Copper asked tentatively.

She shrugged. "I guess. It wasn't as intense as I thought it would be."

"Hurst, Copper."

Adeline punched him lightly as she walked away. "You'll be _fine_. Seeya soon, Inferno-Boy."

The elevator door closed behind her.

Copper was alone.

Taking a shaking breath, he walked slowly down the hallway.

The doors came up on him much too quickly.

_You'll do fine. Everyone else did it, you can do it too. Relax._

But entering the room, he was shocked at what he saw.

The treadmills were gone. _Gone._

And the plant game...the screen was black. It was shut off and in the dark.

_What am I going to_ _**do** _ _?_

He looked up at the Gamemakers. They were distracted by food, drinks, and probably the latest Capitol gossip.

"Copper Hurst," he said, forcing his voice out, "District 12."

Two of the Gamemakers turned to face him, though the rest were laughing and joking as if he wasn't even there.

His mind was suddenly cloudy. He had no idea what he was going to do.

_The dart guns._

Copper turned, seeing the gleaming, silvery weapons placed neatly on their rack.

He made his way over to them, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. If he couldn't shoot well normally, how on earth was he going to pull this off when he was shaking this badly?

Nevertheless, he curled his fingers around the first one he saw and loaded it with trembling fingers.

_Wait._

Suddenly, he remembered why he was even here.

The Capitol was forcing him to compete in the Hunger Games, a sadistic event that he certainly wouldn't survive.

So why even try to get a good score? He didn't need to do well to protect Adeline.

Copper took a deep breath. He was beginning to feel quite calm in that moment.

Then he raised the dart gun and fired.

It missed the target entirely. His blood began to boil.

_I hate the Capitol._

In the next moment, he was firing the dart gun recklessly at all the targets surrounding him. He didn't care that most of them were missing their marks entirely. If the Gamemakers didn't care about him, then why should he care about their stupid little game?

Looking up, Copper noticed that many of them were watching him with looks of shock upon their faces.

_Good,_ he thought bitterly. _Let them see how much I don't care._

But he ran out of darts in less than twenty seconds, and cold realization settled in his stomach.

_What did I just do? No. No! Cerritulus...Livia...all they've done for me, it's wasted!_

Copper tossed the dart gun to the ground, leaving it dejected amongst the darts that now scattered the floor. He fled the evaluation room. He couldn't bare to stay any longer.

.

.

.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Copper said, feigning a smile. "I just did my best. Like you told me to do, Adeline."

_I blew it. And everyone is going to know. What will she say?_

He refused to disclose any information about his evaluation with Cerritulus, even when the man pestered him relentlessly.

But he remained terribly anxious for the rest of the day.

.

.

.

That night, their scores were displayed.

_Victoree._ Her wavy blonde hair shined even in the hologram. Then, her training score was shown. _10._

Copper's jaw dropped. " _Ten?_ That's...amazing."

"Yes, wonderful," Cerritulus muttered sarcastically.

_Cyan._ The dirty-blonde Career smiled on the screen, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. _10._

" _Another ten?!"_ Adeline burst out, her eyes displaying a mixture of both admiration and jealousy.

Copper didn't even know what to say. Cyan hadn't done _anything_ during training. He must be very, very good. _And very dangerous._

_Selene._ She batted her brown eyes innocently as her score was shown. _9._

"Lovely," Cerritulus groaned.

_Flint._ Had he put on even more muscle since they had gotten here? Then came his score- _9._

_Pascal._ The small, mousy-haired girl who had cried at the Reaping. _6._

_Fortran._ His glasses really did make his eyes look enormous. _5._

"See?" Livia smiled brightly. "Not everyone gets super high scores!"

Adeline smiled weakly, a hint of disgust on her face. Copper didn't say anything.

_Quay._ She had shown deadly skill with a sword. _9._

"Yay, another nine," Adeline said bitterly.

_Pike._ Copper hadn't noticed the freckles on his face until now. _8._

_Revella._ Her eyes appeared to be almost amber. _5._

_Carob._ The boy had some weight to spare, something Copper previously would've envied. _5._

_Volant._ The tan, warm-haired girl who had shown no trace of emotion in the Training Center. _7._

_Axle._ He looked horrible. His face was sunken, and the skin hung a bit too loosely around his cheeks. _4._

"Yikes," Cerritulus said absent-mindedly.

_Juniper._ The small Asian girl was looking down. _6._

_Leif._ He certainly looked intimidating. _8._

_Paisley._ Copper stared intently at the screen. _5._

"Five?!" he found himself yelling. "But she was so good with the bow-and-arrows!"

Adeline shrugged. "Guess she wasn't good enough."

_Weft._ He had practiced hand-to-hand combat constantly. _7._

Then came the girl with pale, gray hair and a vacant expression.

_Millet. 4._ Cerritulus grimaced as the score was shown.

_Farro._ Copper barely remembered seeing him at all. _5._

_Annua._ She was the girl that Copper had copied his snare off of. _6._

_Pastern._ The muscular, tanned-skin boy glared into the camera. _8._

_Iris._ Her wiry hair hung in two long braids down her back. _5._

_Mattock._ He looked stoically on. _6._

Copper held his breath.

Adeline's face flashed across the screen. _6._

"Six?" she yelled indignantly. " _Six?_ "

Cerritulus smiled despite the girl's rage. "We can work with that!"

Then, an all-too familiar face stared down at Copper from the screen. He looked...afraid.

_Copper. 3._

Cerritulus's smiled evaporated.

" _THREE?!"_ he shrieked. The man looked almost pale, despite the fact that he was wearing layers of makeup. Were those _tears_ in his eyes?

"Damn," Adeline said in surprise, fighting back laughter. "What did you _do?_ "

"I-I'm not sure," Copper sputtered, embarrassment raging through him. "I just kind of fired the dartgun without aiming much. I didn't like how they didn't seem to care about what I did."

"You're right, they _didn't_ care," Adeline said. "But your score…"

Copper put on a brave face. "You did better than me, good job. I got the worst score of them all."

Cerritulus sighed melodramatically. "And I thought you might get some decent sponsors this year, Copper."

Livia put a hand on Copper's shoulder. "Scores aren't everything," she said consolingly. "You still have the interview with Caesar."


	8. Atypical Career

" _Stars, hide your fires;_

_Let not light see my black and deep desires."_

-Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 4

.

.

.

Copper and Adeline walked sulkily down to breakfast the following morning. Cerritulus appeared to have recovered from the previous night's traumatic events.

"Don't look so glum!" he said optimistically. "If you both ace your interviews, I'm sure we can convince people to sponsor you."

Adeline huffed. "My training score is mediocre at best, and Copper's is...well, his isn't too great. Just tell us what the heck we need to do to make the crowd love us. I'm not sure what we'll do if they don't. But I _don't_ want to act fake."

Cerritulus's smiled didn't fade. "Your stylists got you both noticed during the Tribute Parade. They can and _will_ get you noticed again. But you'll have to learn some rules about manners, first. Also, Adeline, being fake is a part of the Hunger Games. If you want to survive."

Copper suddenly felt very unprepared. "Where...where should we start? I don't know much about behaving like a Capitol person at all."

Cerritulus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We'll begin with the basics. You children need to learn how to walk and sit properly."

And that's what they did for the next _two_ hours. Adeline practiced smoothing her skirt before sitting and crossing her legs daintily. Copper was told that no, it most certainly is _not_ okay to walk with his hands in his pockets. He felt odd holding them at his sides, but Cerritulus definitely knew Capitol manners better than he did.

Luckily, he didn't have any trouble walking in his black and white, saddle-like shoes. Adeline, however, did have some difficulty strutting in her four-inch heels. Cerritulus gave her some tips which seemed to help immensely.

Then they moved on to different facial expressions. Adeline was forced to smile without showing her teeth because she "looked better that way". Copper found himself mastering a rather superficial grin that was definitely not something he enjoyed.

"It's not about _enjoyment_ ," Cerritulus said scoldingly. "It's about being _charming_ and making an impression."

Finally, they began to prepare for what they were actually supposed to say in their interviews. Cerritulus asked both of them countless questions about their personal lives as well as ones regarding their short-lived Capitol ones.

Adeline was very good at answering the questions. There was a definite tone of sarcasm in her voice, which pleased Cerritulus greatly. Thankfully, the persona didn't really seem much different than her genuine one. Cerritulus was even impressed with Copper, who turned red and fidgeted nervously when asked about life in District 12.

"The confident, sarcastic girl and the shy, small town boy!" he said excitedly. "Very contrasting, I love it! It's like you both are polar opposites!"

.

.

.

Copper awoke the following morning. Today was the day of the interviews. He felt happy to be under the care of Livia again as she prepared him for the event. For the time he was with her, the worries he had seemed to fly away. Most of them involved him tripping onstage in front of the entire country.

His prepping didn't hurt anywhere near as much as it had that first day in the Capitol. When they were done, Aquilo and Livia showed him his reflection in the mirror.

Of course, Livia had somehow made him look more than the weak, tiny child he was. Copper stared at the boy who looked back at him. His hair was parted on the side and combed away from his face. The suit he wore was a vivid red; the exact shade of his hair. And right above his heart, the lump of coal from Steel was pinned to his jacket.

"We drilled a hole in it," Aquilo said proudly. "But don't worry, we were very careful not to damage it. I hope you like it."

"Like it?" Copper said, still gazing into the mirror. "I love it. Thank you...so much."

Aquilo smiled. "I've done my job then."

He then exited the room, leaving Copper alone with Livia.

"I'm glad you like it," she said. "I guess I thought the world should see you in red, because of how fiery you've been lately."

Copper blinked. "Me? Fiery? I don't…"

"Yes, Copper, you are," she said, cutting him off. "Maybe not all the time...but when you confronted the Careers, I saw that. And when you told us about getting angry in the training evaluation, I knew for sure you had a spark to you."

Copper was shocked. He hadn't remembered Livia witnessing that nightmare. _Maybe I do have a spark...if only sometimes, like when I'm mad or afraid._

He found himself taking his stylist's words as a compliment. "Thank you…"

"No, thank _you_ ," Livia said, pulling him in for a hug. "You've been nothing but sweet and polite this entire time. I'm so grateful to have worked with you."

And then Cerritulus appeared, squealing over Copper in his ridiculous accent and hauling him away to come see Adeline. The girl stood in the middle of the penthouse, dressed in a flowing white gown. Her pale hair was french-braided, and her blue eyes seemed as piercing as ever. She looked like a queen who ruled over a kingdom of ice.

_Beautiful, but cold. Perfect for a bold, sarcastic girl like Adeline._

"Well, children," Cerritulus said, "You both look _stunning_. But we still have some time before the interviews. I figured we could get a little more practice in until then!"

Copper and Adeline groaned in unison.

.

.

.

The District 12 tributes were escorted reluctantly to the main floor of the Training Center by Cerritulus. A giant stage stood spectacularly in what had previously been wide open space. It was complete with two shiny, white circular chairs and at least half a dozen cameras. Copper felt a panic attack rising in his chest.

"Don't be so nervous," Cerritulus said pointlessly. "Just pretend I'm the one interviewing you like back in the penthouse!"

Adeline grimaced. "I'm not so good at pretending."

"Well, just do your best I suppose."

The host of the pre-Games show was Caesar Flickerman, a man barely older than some of the children he was interviewing. His hair, eyes, and suit were all a very unnatural orange color.

"It's because of you," Adeline said haughtily, not taking her eyes off the man.

"What?" Copper said, looking up at Caesar. Surely he hadn't been inspired by _him?_

Cerritulus grinned. "Of course it's because of you, Copper. The Capitol has definitely seen an increase in red hair the past few days. But it's not quite the same shade as yours," he huffed sadly. "I guess some colors just can't be replicated, unfortunately."

Copper curled his lip. "He better not mention it. I've heard _enough_ about my appearance."

"Whoa, Inferno-Boy, don't start sparking now," Adeline said, wriggling her eyebrows mischievously.

Copper shot her a glare. "You better just be playing up your sassy angle."

"What angle?" she said, a smirk dawning on her face.

The interviews began promptly with District 1. Victoree Obdurate strutted across the stage in a _very_ short rose-gold dress. Her golden-blonde-reddish-brownish hair had been pulled into a high ponytail that fell to her mid-back.

The confident Career flirted with Caesar teasingly throughout their entire conversation. She looked so old and mature compared to Copper, who felt like a prepubescent child in her midst.

"I've never been more prepared for _anything_ else in my entire life, Caesar," she said alluringly.

The host laughed heartily, putting his hand absently on Victoree's upper leg.

Copper cringed.

"Honestly, though. I almost feel sorry for whoever comes across _this_ ," she said, before pointing at herself. "Because I _know_ I'm the most dangerous tribute in this year's Hunger Games. Just take a look at my training score."

Victoree's interview ended with Caesar hugging the District 1 girl a little _too_ long. Adeline scowled as she exited the stage.

Cyan's interview was next. He was dressed in rose-gold as well, though his suit was accented with a shiny silver color. The boy didn't appear to be acting _quite_ as fake as Victoree had. In fact, he seemed to be talking to Caesar with utmost honesty.

"Yeah," he said candidly, "I know I'm prepared for the Games, but I'm starting to wonder if it was such a good idea for me to make friends when I did."

"What do you mean? Could you elaborate?" Caesar said attentively. Copper noticed the audience was silent.

"Well," Cyan said. "There can only be one winner in the Games, and if it's going to be me, then I'll have to leave behind some of those I've met this year."

Caesar nodded. "Anyone in particular?"

Cyan smirked before looking down at his feet. "The other tributes I've met from Districts 2 and 4 are already my friends, and of course Victoree. I've known her since we were little. We went to the same school, and we actually took a boxing class together for years. She always beats me, though."

The enormous screen broadcasted the District 1 girl's face, who shook her head humorously at Cyan's words. _Victoree, beating Cyan?_

"And," Cyan said slowly. "I _want_ to say I'm friends with a certain tribute from District 12. But he doesn't seem to like me much."

Caesar raised his eyebrows good-naturedly. "The one with the red hair? I've heard some call him the _Inferno-Boy_."

Cyan looked up. "Yep, Copper. He's the one. He's always quiet, but I know he's a bit _fiery,_ too. I've seen it."

Suddenly, Copper's flushed face was broadcasted on the screen where Victoree's had previously been. _How dare he say that we're friends? How dare he even mention me? It's all for attention. He's using me for attention. We talked like, two times. And both conversations lasted two minutes maximum._

"Anything more you'd like to say?" Caesar asked. The interview was clearly coming to a close.

Cyan suddenly looked less comedic and more serious. "I'd like to tell my brothers and my parents that I love them, and that I'll see them really soon." Then he took a deep breath. "I also want to say that I'm not a typical District 1 tribute."

"What do you mean by that?" Caesar asked, a tone of genuine curiosity in his voice.

"I'm just," Cyan said, his husky voice quieting. "I want people to know that I'm not a bad guy. I don't see myself as ruthless. Sometimes I have to remind myself that. But I'm coming home, and I'll do it with dignity."

The bell rang, signifying the end of the interview.

"I'm sure you will," Caesar said hastily, before sending Cyan off the stage.

"What is his deal?" Adeline whispered angrily into Copper's ear. She seemed even more mad than he was about Cyan's little speech. "You two are _not_ friends. This is such fake bullshit. I can't even deal."

"I don't know what his issue is," Copper confessed. "I just hope we can get away from him in the Games. He and Victoree...they're very dangerous."


	9. The Limelight

District 12 had been quiet since the Reaping. Families retreated back to their day-to-day lives, grateful that their children had been spared another year.

The Falls didn't have any customers for several days. Mrs. Fall wanted desperately to reach out to Mrs. Hurst; perhaps even become her friend. But Copper's family lived in the Seam, and she wasn't sure if they wanted anything to do with her at the moment.

Adeline's sister, Scarlet, had been tending to the Fall Apothecary while her parents took time off at home. The store was so _empty._ She was used to Adeline lounging around, obsessively straightening shelves and complaining about something. But Adeline was in the Capitol...somewhere she would never go. Somewhere she never _wanted_ to go.

Every time Scarlet passed a mirror in their home, her heart would fly into her throat. But it wasn't Adeline who looked back at her as she so desperately wished.

The door to the tiny store opened, surprising Scarlet. What surprised her even more was who walked inside.

His face was covered with coal dust. In one hand he gripped a mining helmet, and in the other, a transparent vase.

It was filled with lavender. The smell was powerful, almost dizzying. Scarlet swayed. It smelled like _her._ Like _Adeline._

But the man was all-too familiar to Scarlet. Jet-black hair. Soft gray eyes. A scar snaking down above his upper lip. Not particularly tall, but very muscular.

Steel Hurst. That's who he was. Copper's brother.

He approached the desk, setting the vase down in front of Scarlet. "Hello," he said awkwardly, wiping a coal-stained thumb across his nose. "I brought these flowers for you and your family. We're...we're all going through a hard time. I figured that maybe it wouldn't hurt to go through it together?"

Scarlet was stunned. Steel had been in her grade at school. The boy was never talkative, particularly to the merchant kids. He always did his own thing, which she presumed was hunting and providing for the Hurst family. Why he was here, she didn't know. But she was grateful that he was.

"Thank you," she said, gripping her hands around the vase. "I...I think that's what Adeline and Copper would have wanted," she felt tears well up in her eyes. "...They would want us to be strong."

Steel nodded. "Copper's novel he was reading is still wedged in between the couch and the wall. It felt wrong to move it...his coat is hanging on the bathroom door...there's red hairs in the sink…" he trailed off.

Scarlet blinked. She knew Steel's pain all-too well. "When I look in the mirror," she sniffed, "All I see is _her._ I can't even eat dinner without looking at her empty seat and crying. It's just...it's not _fair_ …"

The tears in her eyes had become a river, much like the one Adeline always looked for mint leaves by.

Steel tentatively wrapped his arms around the woman's shaking, sobbing frame. "It's going to be alright," he whispered into her shoulder.

"But is it?" she sniffled.

.

.

.

The empty seat in the middle of the plane-repair workshop haunted everyone in the room.

The instructor, a sickly morphling addict, seemed to have skipped his morning fix. "Where is she?" he asked, motioning to the seat. Pure frustration burned in his eyes.

The class was silent for a moment, before a girl near the empty seat spoke up. "Please, sir," she said quietly. "Volant was picked for the Hunger Games. She's at the Capitol."

The instructor's dead, hopeless eyes gazed at Volant's chair for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I had forgotten."

.

.

.

The assembly line had to work extra hard without her. One day, Paisley had been joking happily about the Peackeeper uniforms looking ugly. The next, she had been whisked away to the Capitol.

There were large screens near the conveyor belts; every worker would be watching her, hoping she would make it back to them. The absence of Paisley's bubbly personality made the dark factory seem even more depressing.

.

.

.

The Tribute Academy in District 2 was already preparing for the _next_ Hunger Games. "We will _not_ tolerate training scores of 9 from our tributes next year!" an intimidating woman shouted at the class. "Either you _know_ you can score a 10, or you _DO NOT_ volunteer! Is that clear?!"

.

.

.

Copper watched each interview as the line of tributes began to grow smaller and smaller.

Flint was cocky during his, talking nonstop about bringing honor to District 2. Selene appeared to be playing some kind of "innocent" angle judging by the way she batted her eyes and smiled sweetly.

District 3 was interesting. The girl, Pascal, sat stiffly in her chair. The dress she wore was a lovely periwinkle color that Copper knew Cerritulus would obsess over.

"I _love_ computers," she said timidly, though her excitement about the topic was clear. "Back home, I always worked on programming. It's interesting to observe the technological differences here in the Capitol."

Her district partner, Fortran, explained that the glasses he wore were to be his token in the arena.

"I find it very difficult to see properly without them," he said robotically.

Volant was polite but cold whilst in the presence of Caesar. She answered his questions tersely, ignoring his urges for her to elaborate. Copper found himself admiring the girl. Her unwillingness to be a conventional tribute with an "angle" was very brave; she made it clear that she wasn't a mere piece in the Capitol's game. District 6 seldom had a competitor like her.

Her partner, however, stumbled through his interview even with Caesar's purposely easy questions. He couldn't speak very well and kept spewing out word salad. Copper was relieved when the boy left the stage.

Soon, Paisley was skipping over to Caesar. Her pale, freckled skin looked almost blue under the harsh lights of the room. She retained that same, happy persona when he asked her about life in District 8.

"I just _love_ it," she piped. "Textiles, patterns, sewing...it's my home. It's where I belong." she paused. "And I can't wait to be back!"

The crowd clapped enthusiastically for Paisley at the commencement of her interview. The girl's vivacious personality seemed to have captured their attention very well.

_She told me she hates District 8. She lied to Caesar. But then again, who would bad-mouth their home on national television?_

Millet was distant and enigmatic while she talked. Much to Copper's dismay, she avoided eye contact with Caesar all throughout their conversation. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

_There you go again, Copper!_ the survivalist in his mind jeered. _You care_ _ **far**_ _too much about people who don't even matter. The girl is going to die, and you better start realizing that._

And then, in almost no time at all, it was Adeline's turn. Her long, white gown fluttered behind her as she walked gracefully across the stage.

Caesar shook her hand enthusiastically. "Aw, our last girl!"

Adeline gave him a sly smile. "Yep. I'm glad they saved the best for last...but actually, I'm _not_ so sure I'll be better than the first."

Copper held his breath. _Victoree and Cyan were the first._

"And why do you say that?" Caesar asked.

Adeline laughed. "Oh, you know. District 1 is just _so_ intimidating and scary. They're so strong. I _wish_ District 12 was as lucky as _them_ in the Hunger Games. It's so interesting how often they win."

Copper gazed out into the crowd, desperate to find Cerritulus. What would the silvery escort think of his district partner's rather insulting approach to the interview? Adeline was being sarcastic, though. That was evident.

Caesar laughed along with the rest of the crazed Capitolites in the room.

"Well, I wouldn't say they were too scary," he said matter-of-factly. "But I would say that _all_ our tributes tonight have been quite strong and capable, _including_ District 1 and 12!"

Adeline rolled her eyes. "I suppose so."

Copper began to feel very nervous. _She's playing it up too much. She's insulted the most dangerous district!_

The two went back and forth for around another minute, until Caesar changed the topic to something more serious.

"So, Adeline," he said softly. "Is there anyone you'd like to speak to while you're up here?"

She took a deep breath. Copper noticed her facade of sarcasm begin to melt away.

"I'd like to tell my mom, dad, and sister, Scarlet, that I love them. I've _never_ stopped thinking of you all, not once throughout this whole thing." She took another breath. "And I'd like to say hello to my friends back in District 12. I miss you all so much...and finally, I'd like to say something to a certain _tribute_ in particular."

Copper shut his eyes, pleading that she wouldn't say something else that could get her killed.

"I'd like to tell _Cyan_ ," she said sourly. "To stay the _heck_ away from my district partner."

The bell signifying the end of her interview rang as soon as the words had left Adeline's lips.

The crowd cheered ecstatically (much to Copper's surprise) as she hugged Caesar and left the stage. Her rather unpleasant demeanor had somehow attracted the attention of _much_ of the audience. They clapped for a good twenty seconds after the girl had disappeared off the stage.

Suddenly, the applause died. Copper felt a wave of anxiety plummet into his stomach.

It was his turn.

_Walk with confidence and stand up straight,_ Cerritulus's words rang in his ears. _And don't fall! That would be_ _ **mortifying**_ _!_

Somehow, he managed to navigate his way to the plush seat across from Caesar without any trouble. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, numbing Copper's senses and distorting his perception of the whole affair.

_You're_ _ **this**_ _scared already, are you?_ the survivalist in his mind taunted. _I can't_ _ **wait**_ _to see what you'll be like on that pedestal tomorrow morning!_

"Well, if it isn't the Inferno-Boy himself!" Caesar said smugly. "How are you on this lovely evening?"

Copper short-circuited. _He's talking to you!_ the survivalist yelled. _Say_ _ **something**_ _!_

"I'm…"

_Don't trail off! Don't pause! Remember what Cerritulus said!_

"I'm feeling pretty great, actually," he lied, his lips contorting into a fake smile.

Caesar grinned. His teeth were _too_ white.

"Earlier tonight," he said, "A certain tribute from District 1, Cyan Cordierite, mentioned you can be a little fiery sometimes. Can you tell us more about that?"

_Deflect the question away from Cyan!_

"Oh, I suppose so," Copper said, trying to sound confident, "Sometimes I don't have any other choice but to be brave. That's what I think people mean when they call me fiery. I have to be brave now; it's my only choice. Like now, in front of the entire world."

The crowd hushed. Caesar nodded, a hint of pity in his orange eyes.

"Yes, I think we can all agree that you're _very_ brave, Copper Hurst."

He looked out at the crowd. "Who agrees?"

Applause and screams erupted from the Capitol citizens, something that unnerved Copper greatly. Surely they weren't clapping for the _him_? Yet they were.

"And what is that on your suit jacket?" Caesar asked, reaching out and touching the lump of coal pinned to it.

"It's my district token," Copper said, taking a shuddering breath, "From my brother, Steel."

_Your facade is melting away,_ the survivalist taunted. _Candidacy doesn't win the Hunger Games!_

"Brother?" Caesar asked kindly.

"Yes. He's my only one, and he works in the mines back in District 12."

"Did he say anything when he gave it to you?"

Copper could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form near his hairline.

_Just try to win,_ Steel had said.

"He told me to try to win." Copper thought of Asher. Suddenly, he found himself continuing to speak. "And," he said, ignoring the way his voice shook, "I will. For him, and for my friend, Asher."

Caesar raised his eyebrows. "Asher? I remember an Asher from a few years ago."

Copper nodded. "Yes, he was my best friend. And I'm going to try my best. For him."

The buzzer sounded.

Caesar smiled. "And try you will."

He lifted Copper's hand into the air. "Copper Hurst of District 12, everyone!"

A _thunderous_ applause broke out, definitely doing at least _some_ damage to his eardrums.

.

.

.

_**R** iding around on the bikes, we're still sane_   
_I won't be her, tripping over on stage_   
_Hey, it's all cool_   
_I still like hotels, but I think that'll change_   
_Still like hotels, and my newfound fame_   
_Hey, promise I can stay good_   
_(Everything feels right) I'm little, but I'm coming for the crown_   
_I'm little, but I'm coming for you (chase paper, get it)_   
_I'm little but I'm coming for the title, held by everyone who's up_

_-_ Lorde, _Still Sane_


	10. Disgusting Specimens

Ultimately, **Volant** comes from the Latin verb _volare,_ meaning "to fly." Another word that came to English through Middle French from _volare_ is "volley," which refers to things flying back and forth through the air.

.

.

.

Copper stumbled down the steps of the stage, only to be pulled into a tight hug by Cerritulus and Livia.

"You did it, sweetie!" the escort squealed gleefully. "The crowd _adored_ you. Perhaps you may get some sponsors after all!"

Copper breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't ask me how I managed that."

"You managed it because you're an _awesome_ tribute," Livia said as the three broke their embrace.

_An awesome_ _**tribute**_ _? I'm a person, not a tribute._

"Thanks, Livia," he said, ignoring the sudden thought. "I couldn't have done it without either of you."

Suddenly, Cerritulus was marching away, a look of intensity on his face. Copper followed the man with his gaze, only to have his eyes land on Adeline.

The girl stood near the exit door, her arms crossed and an annoyed expression on her face. Livia turned him away as Cerritulus began to yell explicitly at the girl.

"Let's go upstairs," his stylist said worriedly. "I'd rather not get in the way of _that."_

.

.

.

Volant huffed as the elevator reached floor 6 of the Training Center. Sighing, she dragged Axle toward their apartment door. Their escort, a conductor aesthetic-obsessed woman called Drusilla tottered uselessly behind them.

"Perhaps he needs to sit down and watch television?" she asked dubiously.

Volant laughed bitterly. "What he needs is water. After that," she heaved the boy's arm farther up her shoulder, "He's going to bed."

"Well, okay, dear."

The apartment was almost empty apart from a silent Avox standing in the corner near the dining room. Volant didn't want to ask for a favor, so she got the glass of water herself.

"Just drink it, please," she said to Axle, failing to conceal the frustration in her voice.

He stared at her for a moment before taking it with shaking hands. It took him a long time to finish the water, even with Volant's desperate pleas for him to keep drinking.

After she had helped him change into his night clothes and get into bed, Volant was _finally_ able to tend to her own needs. She ripped her purple dress carelessly away from her tanned skin, leaving it to lay in a crumpled mess on the floor.

Orange was her favorite color, so she decided on wearing a long-sleeved carrot-colored shirt and black leggings to bed. It didn't matter to her that Drusilla hated that particular shade. The woman would mean nothing to her in less than a day.

Volant pulled her hair into a messy ponytail before heading down to the living room. To her surprise, Aero, District 6's only living victor, was sitting alongside Drusilla on the couch.

"Ah, you," he said as his eyes fell onto Volant. "What're you doing down here?"

"I couldn't sleep," she muttered.

Aero was gross. He never bathed, never ate, and never _helped_ her and Axle. All he did was take injections.

"Understandable," the victor mused, ignoring the look of disapproval on Drusilla's face.

Volant turned to walk away.

"Wait, little girl," he said, reaching out and grabbing her arm.

She turned to face him. " _What_?"

"What's your plan for tomorrow?"

Volant found herself laughing a second time that night out of pure disgust.

"My _plan_?" she said, making no effort to hide the disdain in her voice. "You never asked either of us that. So why tonight?"

The victor shrugged. It looked as if he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Are you going to abandon him?" he asked quietly.

Volant stared. "By _him_ , I assume you mean Axle. And no, I'm not going to just leave him to die."

Aero said nothing for a moment. Finally, he looked up at her.

"I'd think twice about that, if I were you," he said. "Tough girl, you are. A score of seven...I scored a five. You could make it…" he trailed off. "...But not with a weight like that."

.

.

.

Despite being utterly exhausted from that night's events, Copper couldn't sleep. Eventually, he realized how futile it was to pretend that he would soon fall into a peaceful slumber. With this in mind, he decided to go up to the rooftop.

It was just as it had been before. The iron gate was open, and everything was glowing from the blue lights in the flower beds. The white roses almost looked like fairies at that moment. It was peaceful, despite the noise.

Copper strode through the garden, thinking about everything yet nothing at all. The streets below were lively with Capitol people. It appeared that a parade was going on.

_Sick, disgusting specimens,_ he thought.

Then he saw her. What was his district partner doing up here? Only _he_ knew about the rooftop. Well, and Millet. But she wasn't there.

"Adeline!" he yelled over the sounds of the festivities.

The girl was sitting at the far end of the garden, her legs draped over the side of the Training Center. Upon hearing her name, she turned, looking startled.

"Oh, Copper!" she shouted back. "You scared me! Come over here!"

He walked swiftly through the rosebushes, though his arm caught on one of the thorns.

"Ow!" he yelped, examining the cut on his arm. A thin trail of blood trickled down to his wrist.

_Great,_ the survivalist heckled. _You've already hurt yourself._

Copper ignored it, using his sleeve to wipe away the blood. He then finished making his way to Adeline.

"Sit down," she urged him. The girl wore a pair of black shorts and a green short-sleeved shirt. It was a warm night out, though the snow-capped mountains in the distance looked as cold as ever.

"What are you doing up here?" Copper asked once he had taken a seat next to her.

Adeline smirked. "I could ask you the same question, Inferno-Boy."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

The two remained silent for a moment. They stared down at the streets below. Victoree's face beamed up at them from a moving poster. Copper felt sick.

"Why did you do it?" he asked. "Insult the Careers like that?"

Adeline sighed. "Cerritulus has already berated me enough for that, Copper."

"Was he really mad? I tried to keep my distance."

"He agreed with what I said," she muttered. "But yes, he was really mad. At least we're even now, though."

Copper narrowed his eyes. "We're even?"

"Yeah, duh," she said. "The Careers already hate you for calling out Cyan during the parade. Now they hate me, too!"

"That's not _good_."

"Well, I planned on avoiding them anyway, so whatever."

Copper plucked a rose from a nearby bush. He twirled it around in his hand for a moment. It was the exact shade of white that Adeline's dress had been.

"What's your plan tomorrow?" he asked her.

Adeline looked over at him. "I'm going to the Cornucopia."

" _What_?" Copper gasped. "W-Why?"

"Because, we're screwed if we don't have any supplies."

Copper shook his head. " _No,_ please don't! I'll run to you and we can get _away_ from the bloodbath."

Adeline was silent for a moment. Her hair blew lazily in the warm night air as she stared down at the streets below.

"Fine," she said. Copper breathed a sigh of relief. "But," she continued, "I'm grabbing a backpack. I won't go all the way to the mouth of the Cornucopia, but we need _something_."

"Al-Alright," Copper stammered. He couldn't understand why she was willing to risk her life for a stupid backpack.

_You won't survive long without supplies,_ the survivalist warned.

_Yeah, but I also won't survive long if I get eviscerated by Flint during the bloodbath,_ he thought.

Adeline interrupted his internal argument. "We should get to bed," she said, stifling a yawn.

Copper helped his district partner to her feet. "One more night of luxury in the Capitol," he murmured.

.

.

.

Copper laid in his bed, tossing and turning. Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep. Dreams of life in District 12 quickly turned into nightmares of past Hunger Games. Tomorrow was the big day. Tomorrow he'd be in the arena. Tomorrow could be his last day in this world.

.

.

.

”I know the crowd loves him,” Livia said worriedly as she wrapped her dark, coiled hair in a satin scarf. “But what good would that do him in the arena?”   
  


Cerritulus continued laying everything he needed on the table in front of him, preparing all of the screens and papers for tomorrow when the Games began. Being a mentor was a lot more work than people probably believed.   
  


“It does a lot more good than you might think,” Cerritulus replied. “Half the kids who have survived the Games only were able to due to sponsors. Copper is popular in the Capitol— as far as I know, he has more potential sponsors than 19 of the tributes. Districts 1 and 2 are the only ones above him.”


	11. Launching

_Oh the storm is raging against us now_

_If you're afraid of falling then don't look down_

_But we took the step or we took the leap_

_And we'll take what comes, take what comes_

Imagine Dragons, _Walking The Wire_

_._

_._

_._

Copper was dreaming. But in that moment, he didn't know. Looking around, he realized he was surrounded by nothing but gigantic boulders and craggy terrain. He was in the arena…

_It's so similar to Asher's Games..._

Copper stepped out from behind a rock, but flinched when he saw _her_.

It was Crystal, the District 1 girl who later became a victor. But who was that pale blonde boy lying at her feet? It couldn't be―surely it wasn't Asher? She was bent over him as his body shook grotesquely…

All of sudden, as she withdrew the sword from his abdomen, Crystal melted away. Copper looked on with horror as he realized it wasn't her anymore. _It was Cyan._ And his victim was Adeline.

_Adeline!_ he screamed. His feet felt as if they were stuck in quicksand...he couldn't get to her fast enough…

_Oh no, no!_

The girl fell to her knees, the blade still embedded in her stomach.

.

.

.

When Copper awoke, his heart was pounding. Today was the day. Today the Games began...and that meant it may be the last day of his life.

_I might as well enjoy a decent breakfast then,_ he thought.

Copper ate a swift meal of oatmeal and fruit across from Adeline. He glanced up at her, and the two met eyes for a split second. Neither one initiated a conversation. The room felt so _bleak_ without Cerritulus's bubbly persona. Where was their escort, anyway?

Livia and Cornelia entered the room a moment later, ready to take the tributes away for their final preparations. It was then that Copper realized: he wasn't going to see Adeline again until they were in the arena.

"Wait!" he cried a little too frantically before rushing to Adeline's side. He gave the girl the first _real_ hug he had given anyone since the Reaping. "See you soon."

"Don't squeeze me so hard," Adeline said, though there was no trace of annoyance in her voice. Her typical bitterness was just a distraction from everything else.

And then, the ashen-haired girl was gone. Copper realized that she had become almost family to him. He hated not having her by his side, and the dread of parting with her permanently terrified him.

_It's going to happen very soon,_ the survivalist murmured.

After taking a freezing cold shower to wake him up, Copper met his stylist to obtain the clothes he was to wear on the ride to the arena. Livia had selected a plain dark blue shirt and gray slacks. He put them on with some difficulty; his fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

The menacing, dark hovercraft came for them only minutes later. A ramp descended from it slowly. Copper looked back at Livia.

"I-I don't _want_ to," he choked, tears spilling from his eyes.

"Come," she said quietly, reaching out for his hand.

Inside, Copper's arm was painfully injected with a tracker. From there, the flight to the undisclosed destination of the 42nd Hunger Games began.

Flint sat across from him. The brutal-looking boy seemed relaxed and composed; a stark contrast to how Copper appeared. As they landed, someone vomited near the exit door. He had no choice but to step over it and continue walking.

Cerritulus was presumably off saying goodbye to Adeline, leaving Copper alone in the Launch Room with Livia.

She presented him with the clothing he would be wearing into the Games: a pair of plain, brown pants, insulated hiking boots, black gloves, a dark long-sleeved t-shirt, and a thick, coal-colored jacket.

"Heat absorbing," Livia said thoughtfully, sliding the jacket's fabric through her fingers. "And...water resistant, as well as the gloves."

That was Copper's first clue as to what the arena was going to be like that year. _Cold._

Then, Livia was removing something from her pocket. It was the lump of coal. She took Copper's hand in hers and closed his fingers around it.

"Good luck," she said softly.

Copper felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. " _Please,_ " he begged.

Livia said nothing. She reached out and caressed his face slowly, as if she would never see him again.

_She won't._

"What do you mean, 'please'?" a voice said behind him.

Copper turned only to see Cerritulus running awkwardly through the door, his arms outstretched. He saw the tears in the man's eyes just before being snatched up into a tight hug.

"Listen, Copper," Cerritulus said into his ear. "You know very well that I've seen more tributes come through here than I'd care to admit. But of them all, I believe in you."

"What?" Copper said, his voice coming out in a shaky whisper. "I can't fight...I scored a _three_ in training."

Cerritulus shook his head. "It doesn't matter." his silver eyes glittered with emotion. "Do I really need a reason to have faith in you? Why must I elaborate?" He began to sob profusely.

Copper hugged the man tighter, and was surprised when he felt Livia join them. They stood there for only a moment, though it felt like an eternity to him.

"Thirty seconds." a robotic voice sounded throughout the room.

Livia's grip on him loosened. "It's almost time," she said.

At this point, Copper _really_ began to cry. "I-I don't _want_ to," he sobbed for the second time that day. "You know I-I can't k- _kill_ anyone."

"Copper," it was Cerritulus. "Remember how brave you've been. We've all seen it. You promised your family―you promised Asher that you would do your best," he wiped at his eyes. "When that gong sounds, _run._ Stay away from the others, and you won't _have_ to kill anyone. At least not for a while."

_At least not for a while,_ the survivalist jeered.

"Fifteen seconds."

Cerritulus's silver eyes bored into Copper's.

"Copper. _You can do this._ ” 

The boy smiled weakly. "I'll try," he said.

Then he stepped unwillingly into the launch tube, which immediately closed, cutting off all sound from Copper's ears. The last thing he saw before he began to ascend was Cerritulus leaning away to sob on Livia's shoulder.

Then, the Inferno-Boy was in the arena.


	12. Decision

"All through autumn we hear a double voice: one says everything is ripe; the other says everything is dying. The paradox is exquisite. We feel what the Japanese call "aware" — an almost untranslatable word meaning something like "beauty tinged with sadness." -Gretel Ehrlich, _The Solace of Open Spaces_

.

.

.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Thirty-Ninth Annual Hunger Games begin!"_

_Sixty seconds. The countdown had begun. Boulders littered the ground. Asher jerked his head to the side, his blonde hair glowing in the harsh sunlight. The arena was coming into focus, now. The blinding whiteness was fading away._

_Fifty-nine. It smelled like nothing. Sterile. Synthetic. Not naturalistic._

_Fifty-eight. The Cornucopia shimmered at the top of a rock-ridden hill. The climb would not be easy._

_Fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five, fifty four. The grass was so green, so saturated that it almost hurt Asher’s pale blue eyes when he looked at it. The sky was a brilliant azure. The one-dimensional white clouds contrasted with it rather severely._

_Fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven. Behind Asher, the hill stooped down into more rocky terrain. It would be difficult to navigate. In the distance, a mountain loomed over the arena, its presence ominous. Its light brown coloration was tinged with a poisonous purple. Asher knew, then, that he would not be setting foot on that mountain._

_Forty-six, forty-five, forty-four, forty-three, forty-two, forty-one, forty. Asher was surprised to see that the tribute next to him, the boy from District 8, he recalled, was standing with his body loose and his head drooping. A dazed expression was plastered to his face._

_Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty._

**_You're in the Games!_ ** _Asher scolded silently._ **_Wake up!_ **

_Twenty-nine. But the boy could not hear him._

_Twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six. Glancing around, Asher realized that most of the tributes had robotic, unemotional looks upon their faces._

_Twenty-five. And there was Cinder. She stood strangely still, one hand weakly reached up to the sky, almost as if she was trying to touch the heavens. Her eyes were closed._

**_Wake up, Cinder! Open your eyes, before it’s too late!_ **

_Twenty-four. But of course, she too could not hear him._

_Twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen. Asher thought of Copper. He remembered how his friend clung to him when he was called, and he wouldn’t let go. Asher missed him. He missed everyone._

_Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. He dwelled in the memories for a bit, knowing that the Games might give him no other chance to recall them._

_Fifteen. Asher inwardly wished Copper luck in life. He hoped the boy wouldn’t be torn to pieces if he died._

_Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten. He hoped his father could deal with the loss of him._

_Nine._

**_Please don’t die, Cinder._ **

_Eight._

**_Please don’t cry, Cerritulus._ **

_Seven._

**_Please don’t watch, Copper._ **

_Six. Six seconds left. But it had been sixty seconds only a second ago..._

_Five. Time went by too fast. Way, way too fast..._

_Four. Asher looked to his right. The District 8 boy was trying to collect himself, to wake up. But it was too late. There wasn't enough time..._

_Three._

**_What am I going to do?_ **

_Two._

**_Please don’t die, Cinder. Please..._ **

_One._

**_Please don’t watch, Copper. DO NOT._ **

_Zero. The gong rang._

.

.

Sixty seconds. Only one minute stood between the tributes and the beginning of the 42nd Hunger Games. _Sixty, fifty-nine…_

Copper's eyes swept over the arena. He was shocked by how _beautiful_ it was.

A deciduous forest extended as far as the boy could see. The trees surrounding him were bursting with red, orange, and yellow leaves, and some even appeared to be _purple_. The Cornucopia glinted temptingly in the morning sun only a few hundred yards away.

_Fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five…_

The gaping mouth of the horn was filled with weapons, medicine, crates, and food. Strewn on the ground in front of it were items of lesser value. Copper noticed a small slice of bread wrapped in plastic. It was only feet from his pedestal.

_Fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one…_

He glanced to his left, only to see Selene smiling excitedly, her legs already positioned into a running stance. On his right, Pastern, the boy from District 10 stood, a look of determination on his face.

_Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six…_

And there was Adeline, barely visible next to the enormous Cornucopia. She scanned the area around her until at last she seemed to see him. Even though the girl was far away, Copper could see the fear on her face.

_Forty-five, forty-four, forty-three, forty-two, forty-one…_

He glanced behind him. The radiant trees leading away from the bloodbath looked like a safe haven. If he was smart, he would immediately go there when the gong rang.

_Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six…_

But Adeline wasn't anywhere near him. He had to go to _her,_ to ensure she wouldn't get hurt...or worse.

_Thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one…_

Copper strained to see who was on either side of Adeline. He noticed light reflecting off of the eyes on the person to her right. _Fortran's glasses._ And to her left, the dark skin of District 11's Mattock couldn't be mistaken.

_Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six…_

He tried to remember what Cerritulus said. Not about having faith in him, though that was still at the surface of Copper's thoughts. But that wasn't important right now.

...The man insisted that he flee. " _When that gong sounds,_ _ **run**_ _. Stay away from the others…"_

His pleading voice had been so insistent...that risking their lives for supplies wasn't worth it. But had he counted on Copper and Adeline being so far away from one another? Did he know that Adeline intended to participate in the initial skirmish? Clearly, the answer was no.

_Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two, twenty-one…_

He was in a predicament.

_Well, obviously,_ the survivalist in his mind said.

Cerritulus had urged him to run away from the bloodshed and hide somewhere far away.

But Copper had promised himself that he would protect Adeline at all costs, even at the risk of his own life. They were allies, after all. Wouldn't running away from her clearly show that he didn't consider her on his side?

_Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…_

Copper suddenly became aware of how badly he was shaking. He clamped his fists tightly at his sides in an effort to remain calm. If he fell off the pedestal now, he'd be blown to smithereens before the Games even began.

_Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve…_

Something within him stirred. This time, it wasn't the self-preserving survivalist, but a different voice completely. It told him that he couldn't abandon Adeline. Not after that night on the train...and the chariot ride...and the rooftop. She was his _sister_. Even though they had only known one another for a few days, the girl felt like family to Copper. She _was_ family, or at least as close to family as he could get here. They were both from District 12, after all. Would Steel abandon him just because he was scared? No, he wouldn't.

So he wouldn't abandon Adeline.

_Eleven, ten, nine…_

His mother had always counted on him to do good. " _Have courage and be kind,"_ she always said. Her curly red hair and kind, blue-gray eyes were more prominent in Copper's mind than ever before.

_Eight, seven, six…_

But Mrs. Hurst had told him something else on that fateful day when he was Reaped. " _Stay the_ _ **hell**_ _away from the others!"_

How far would that take him? He would lay somewhere until only a dozen or so people were left, then get brutally murdered or die of dehydration. Wouldn't dying in the place of someone he cared for be a better way to go?

_Five, four, three…_

Copper gripped the lump of coal from Steel tightly in his hand. He had reached the crucial decision. Whether he died in the bloodbath or later in the Games, being remembered as a coward or traitor was not on his agenda. He was tired of always seeming timid, weak, and _unexceptional_.

_Two…_

He _would_ protect Adeline. Or at least do his best to shield her from danger. And if he died in the process, so be it. At least his death would mean something.

_One…_

Copper's heart thundered faster than it had before. _Please don't die, Adeline._

And then came a booming voice from everywhere all at once. " _Let the 42nd Hunger Games begin!"_

And he took off toward the Cornucopia.

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.

.


	13. Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who skipped right to this chapter: YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON MAJOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. GOD, HAVE FUN NOT ENJOYING THIS STORY AS MUCH AS YOU COULD’VE.

When the gong sounded, the eerie, tranquil atmosphere of the arena dissolved into immediate chaos. Shouts of desperation and gasping breaths could be heard from all around. Suddenly, everyone flew from their pedestals in sync, making the ground shake underneath Copper's feet. The world around him was nothing short of a _nightmare_. Except in this one, there was no waking.

Copper didn't take his eyes off Adeline as he raced towards her. The girl was sprinting full-speed in his direction, her eyes fixated on a black backpack near the Cornucopia's mouth. He was painfully aware of Selene running alongside him, but felt momentary relief as she soon fell behind to pick something off the ground. _A baton._ Copper forced himself to run even faster.

Everything in him, down to the core of his very being, was screaming, " _TURN AROUND!"._ He had to fight relentlessly to suppress the urge to scramble away in the opposite direction, to focus on Adeline, and to keep the promise he had made himself to be strong.

 _Strong._ All Copper's life, he had searched for a reason to be just that. All his life, he had wished to be something more than a weak, pathetic boy that everyone regarded as a pushover. And here, in the Hunger Games, he had found his reason.

It was in Steel's thick black hair...in Beatrice's tight embrace...in Adeline's mischievous smirk...even in Cerritulus's teary face...the willingness to risk everything for the sake of those he loved.

He repeated the word to himself silently. _Strong._ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone being pushed brutally to the ground. The sound of metal slashing flesh followed, and it was the most terrifying sound Copper had ever heard. He heard it again. And again. And again. Someone was being cut up, and horrifically. 

.

.

.

Cyan watched Victoree pull a sword across the boy from District 10’s stomach. He stifled a grimace at the ugly reddish-brown color of the guts spilling out onto the leaves. It wasn’t that he was sensitive to gore. He was a Career, but the cause of his discomfort was Victoree’s retaliation from the unspoken code of the Careers— that you make the bloodbath kills quick; you kill the babies early, so they don’t have to suffer, and then save the ugly kills for later when things would get slow. He turned, throwing a knife straight into the boy from 11’s skull. He was 13, scared and shaking. Cyan made it quick.

.

.

.

Now, Copper was at the Cornucopia, and in the heart of the danger. Most of the Careers were grappling for supplies, though Volant and Adeline were there too. He watched as Leif, the boy from District 7, raced from the mouth before throwing a metallic hatchet through the air.

The weapon rotated with lightning speed as it soared through the havoc. Copper looked on in horror as it imbedded itself in a wide-eyed Juniper. _She's...his district partner._ The girl stumbled, gasping helplessly as blood gushed down her face. Copper choked back bile as she landed head-first on the leaf-strewn ground. Flint was crouched over a tribute some ways away, hacking at them repeatedly. Copper felt like his mind was going to fracture from the sight. 

At this point, he was in shock. But that didn't stop him from running. He dashed past Flint, who was still crouched over the fallen body of Revella, though the girl was clearly gone. A _pillow_ was cradled in her limp arms. Copper was faintly aware of the spray of blood splattering on his black jacket. Behind Revella and Flint, Iris dodged a blow from Carob's spear before punching him hard in the face. He gasped, covering his nose whilst stumbling away from her.

 _No one's going for you,_ the survivalist laughed. _I wonder why?_

The bloodbath continued around him. Victoree snagged the bow-and-arrow from the mouth of the horn, wasting no time loading it. She was actually _smiling_ as she fired a silver arrow with impressive speed. Copper didn't even _see_ the projectile: it was going that fast. His heart sank as Fortran fell backward, blood blooming like a rose across his chest. The boy's glasses fell from his face, landing dejectedly amongst the leaves.

A blood-soaked Flint was now beside Quay, who seemed to be fighting off the boy from District 9. The two appeared to be guarding the majority of the more sought-after supplies. Millet crawled slowly away from them, a long, serious-looking gash already on her leg.

And then, Flint was shoving Paisley hard against the side of the Cornucopia. He grabbed the hood of her jacket and began to jerk the girl around viciously. She was screaming so loudly that Copper felt like he was going to pass out. Was that a _knife_ in her back? She was being murdered right in front of him, and there was nothing that he could do about it. 

Now, Adeline had reached the backpack. She threw it over her shoulders, scanning around frantically for Copper. Her eyes found him a mere second later.

"Adeline!" he gasped, trudging towards her as fast as he could.

The girl's eyes travelled behind his left ear. She screamed. "Copper!"

He snuck a glance over his shoulder, only to see Victoree Obdurate grinning maliciously next to Mattock's unmoving corpse. Her jade eyes sparkled with joy as she pulled the string of her bow for a second time. Except now, she was set on shooting _him._

Copper's heart was beating so fast he thought he may pass out. His feet were kicking up dozens of red and orange leaves as he rapidly approached Adeline. Everything felt almost numb, as if his senses had been temporarily cut away. He would die just as Asher had, at the hands of a District 1 girl in the initial bloodbath. The Inferno-Boy waited for the searing pain of Victoree's arrow.

...It didn't come. He reached his district partner, who shoved a bright yellow bundle into his hands. Copper turned, only to see that Victoree had become distracted by Iris and Carob's brawl; the two were blocking her aim. Adeline grabbed his hand and the two whirled around to set off from where she had come.

But then, out of nowhere, _Weft_ leapt in front of them, a spear clutched in each of his large hands. Copper remembered he had achieved a decent score in his training evaluation. The boy's face held no trace of emotion as he raised one of the razor-sharp weapons. Adeline shrieked, yanking Copper down abruptly with her as Weft threw the first spear.

A spike of pain erupted from his ear, though he didn't cry out. Too disoriented to assess the damage, Copper at least knew it wasn't severe. The spear was buried deep in the ground several feet away. Apparently it had only nicked him.

 _Two inches further to the left and you'd be dead,_ the survivalist said, sounding genuinely worried. _Run,_ it warned.

Adeline pulled him violently up, and the two began to run again. Weft seemed surprised that he hadn't managed to skewer one of them, but raised his second spear determinedly nonetheless. Copper squeezed his eyes shut as he waited to be struck.

But suddenly, a figure slammed into their attacker, knocking the District 8 tribute off balance. It was Cyan Cordierite, the dirty blonde, stuck-up Career. However, that comical grin Copper knew all too well wasn't present on his face. The boy glared at Weft before lunging at him with a particularly large sword. He looked _livid_.

Copper took this opportunity to _get the hell out of there._ His left hand was still holding onto Adeline, while the other remained clamped around the bundle she had forced into his arms. They ran as fast as they could, trees whizzing past them.

Soon, the screaming, panting, and _laughter_ of the bloodbath began to fade away. Copper risked a quick look back: trees blocked much of his view, and the scene was growing increasingly farther and farther away.

Adeline was doing the same. They were both too far away to make out individual figures, but the fight was definitely still going on, at least judging by the sound of metal against metal.

Around the two, the air was full of falling leaves and the smell of autumn. The harsh wind blew dozens of them down, making it look almost as if it was raining orange. Despite having left the immediate danger, Copper and Adeline didn't stop running. Adrenaline was all that was needed for the pair to keep going.

After a while, Copper knew they were probably reasonably safe, but he urged Adeline to charge onward. The two hurtled over fallen logs and large rocks in their race to find safety.

 _Good,_ the survivalist said approvingly.

Even when the sunlight shining through the trees faded away, they didn't stop. Copper reached up to feel his ear. A small chunk of the pinna was missing, though the blood around it had dried. He had managed to escape the bloodbath relatively unscathed.

 _Congratulations,_ the survivalist echoed absently. _By some miracle, you're still alive._

.

.

.

Cyan plunged his sword into the boy from District 5’s heart, silencing his muted cries.

Carob. Flint had left him still alive, albeit barely. He looked like a peeled-open pomegranate by the time he was done with him. Cyan couldn’t bring himself to understand why the District 2 Career hadn’t killed him swiftly, maximizing his usage of time in the bloodbath. But no, Flint had executed all of his kills with relish, similar to Victoree.

Apparently, the 42nd Hunger Games had more sadistic Careers than most other years.


	14. Killer

Artemisia **Annua** , also known as sweet wormwood, sweet annie, sweet sagewort, annual mugwort or annual wormwood, is a common type of wormwood native to temperate Asia, but naturalized in many countries including scattered parts of North America.

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_BOOM._ Copper tripped and fell out of alarm as the cannon roared. _BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ Adeline stopped dead in her tracks, her face tilted up towards the sky as she counted. _BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._

_How many was that?_ Copper became aware that he had lost count. The sound of the cannon was so loud. His head swam dizzyingly.

"Copper," Adeline called, her voice coming out in an exhausted tone. "I can't go on any further tonight. Let's stop for now and rest."

The red-haired boy turned to face her, stirring the bright leaves below his boots. "Alright," he said kindly, although he secretly wished they could venture further. The more distance put between them and everyone else, the better. But it _was_ late, and he _was_ tired.

Adeline took her backpack off and began to rummage inside of it, examining the supplies she had snatched from the cornucopia. Copper looked down at the yellow bundle in his own hands. He had barely even remembered it was there. He couldn't think straight with all this fear and anxiety permeating throughout him.

"Hm, a knife," Adeline said thoughtfully, pulling out a rather large blade from the bag. "This'll come in handy. Ooh, and crackers, as well as _two_ filled water bottles and matches! What about you, Copper? What's in that bundle I shoved into your grubby little hands?"

Copper unraveled the yellow fabric, and was shocked at what he saw.

_A dart gun._

It was the only weapon he had showed even a _ghost_ of a skill with. It seemed almost _too_ perfect. There were four darts.

"A dart gun," he said quietly, holding it up for Adeline to see in the twilight. "And four darts."

"Wow, that's awesome!" she said, zipping her bag up and placing it back upon her back. Copper did the same, rolling the bundle back up around his new weapon.

"I wish I actually knew _something_ about camouflage," Adeline sighed, sinking against one of the many trees that surrounded them. "I guess we could bury ourselves in leaves and sleep for a few hours, then wake up before the sun rises and keep going?"

Copper nodded, still trying to overcome the sudden feeling of vertigo that the cannon fire had instilled in him. "I'll take the first watch," he said shakily, failing to hide the discomfort in his voice. "You go to sleep, Adeline. I'll wake you in a few hours."

"Thanks, Copper."

The two began to hide themselves underneath thousands of yellow, orange, red, and purple leaves. They were situated near a giant oak tree, its branches hanging down unnaturally close to the ground. Nobody would be able to see them underneath the leaves, especially at night. They offered warmth too, almost like Copper's cozy bed at home.

_My red hair might actually help with camouflage,_ Copper thought sleepily. He had previously been concerned about standing out because of it, but somehow things at worked out better than he anticipated. It was odd, especially considering this was the _Hunger Games_. Things weren't supposed to work out in _any_ way.

Suddenly, loud music blasted from the sky. It was Panem's national anthem, _Horn of Plenty_. Copper gazed upwards as Panem's seal lit up the darkness, "THE FALLEN" displayed in giant letters below it. He held his breath. Why, he didn't know.

The first to appear in the sky was Fortran, the poor-sighted boy from District 3. No surprise there. Copper shuddered as he remembered the blood blossoming across his chest less than 30 seconds into the Games. Next, Revella and Carob were shown, eliminating District 5 completely. Copper wondered what had happened to Carob. He had seemed dangerous and highly aggressive in the initial skirmish. Perhaps a Career had done away with him?

The sunken face of Axle, District 6's young morphling addict shined in the sky next. This was expected. He was born to die, whether it was from drugs or a sick game. Copper felt a chill rise deep within his chest.

Juniper, the small Asian girl followed. She had been murdered by her district partner. Copper still couldn't believe how Leif had been able to do that so easily. Out of _anyone,_ he just _had_ to make his first kill be the girl from his home. What did those back in District 7 think of him?

Copper looked over at Adeline. Her blue eyes were reflected in the harsh light from the Capitol seal. She was watching just as intently as he was. They both knew who was next.

_Flint jerked Paisley up and down, slamming her into the side of the cornucopia._

In the sky, Paisley was the only tribute smiling in her photo. She looked genuinely happy, even if it was nothing more than a facade. The girl possessed a very rare kind of positivity that was almost unfathomable. It was terribly sad that she was taken away from the world at such a young age. So pretty...so smart... _it isn't fair,_ Copper thought.

She faded away and was replaced by a boy with dark hair and a vacant expression. Weft looked as unemotional as ever as his photo leered down at them.

"Thank God he's gone," Adeline whispered. "He almost killed us...I knew he was someone that we could never trust."

Copper agreed. They would've been dead if _Cyan_ hadn't distracted (and presumably killed) Weft. Why had the District 1 boy seemed so furious? Copper felt an odd sensation in his stomach.

Next to appear in the sky was the boy from District 9. Copper was _shocked_ when Millet's face didn't appear. He was so distracted that he missed who appeared in the sky next. _Millet isn't gone? She isn't dead?_

It made no sense. He remembered her crawling away from the cornucopia on the ground, a big gash on her leg. How on _earth_ did she survive? Mattock was the last face to appear. The seal flickered, brightening, and then disappeared as _Horn of Plenty_ faded out.

Adeline turned on her side, dumping more leaves onto her head. She was _barely_ visible at this point. "Goodnight, Copper," she said drowsily. "Wake me up soon."

.

.

.

Millet crawled pathetically through the leaves, her leg bleeding profusely. The sound of the hovercraft drowned out the laughter from the Careers, if only for a few moments. The bloodbath was over, and the fallen were being clawed up from the ground like rag dolls. No one could see her, she was at the edge of the forest, but the gray-haired girl knew she wasn't going to last much longer. She could feel her consciousness getting hazy…

Millet's breathing slowed. She wasn't even in pain anymore.

.

.

.

The cannon fired.

_Crunch. Crunch._

Copper jerked his head to the side, his heart thundering in his chest. _What was that?_

It was in the early hours of the morning, and Adeline was still sleeping. Copper had decided not to awake her to take his place watching. He was too anxious to sleep.

_Crunch. Crunch._

Pure dread rolled into Copper's stomach like storm clouds.

He stayed where he was, hoping that whoever was drawing nearer would simply walk past them. That's when the paces quickened, and a girl let out a cry of aggression.

"Adeline!" Copper yelled, shooting upward, the dart gun clasped in his hands. He was disoriented. Adeline was up immediately, her hand encased around the long knife she had been concealing under the leaves with her.

He could see the outline of the person running towards them, her brown hair flying behind her. It was Annua, the District 10 girl. Copper stumbled out of the way as she flew past him towards Adeline. Annua appeared to have a sickle-like sword grasped in her hands, and she immediately began to wildly swing it at Adeline.

"Adeline!" Copper yelled again, his heart beating faster than he ever thought would've been possible. How could he see so well? The woods were almost luminous in the early morning, as if the bright-colored leaves were releasing light. Annua struck at Adeline again, narrowly missing.

Copper loaded his dartgun with tremblng fingers. "Hey!" he shouted, his fingers closing around the trigger. "Get away from her, or else I'll shoot you!"

Ignoring him, Annua struck at Adeline once again, hitting her in the arm. Adeline screamed in pain as she dropped to the leafy floor.

_She's going to die,_ the survivalist said.

How had this already happened? Copper had thought that the violence was over, at least briefly. But almost as soon as he and Adeline escaped the bloodbath, they were being attacked once again. This was the apathetic world of the Games, and because of that, he knew that he would never catch a break. 

Copper remembered firing the dart gun in the Training Center, missing the targets completely. How on earth was he going to save Adeline? If a threat didn't work, then he had no idea what he was going to do. 

"I'm warning you, get away from her, now!" Copper yelled again, his voice coming out in a cracked screech.

.

.

.

Cerritulus watched the screen with his hands in his silvery hair, the man's heart beating so hard he thought it may explode. Livia was right beside him. Her hand gripping his arm with intense force.

_"G-get away from her!"_ Copper yelled onscreen, his hand shaking violently as he held the dart gun. 

"Do something, Copper!" Cerritulus bellowed at the screen. "Shoot the gun! NOW!"

.

.

.

Copper squeezed his eyes shut as he fired the trigger of the dart gun. 

_Open your damn eyes!_ the survivalist said. _How on earth are you going to hit her with them shut? You can't even aim well with your eyes open!_

But, by some miracle, the survivalist was wrong. Copper opened his eyes, his hands still shaking as he desperately tried to load a second dart. But what was wrong with Annua? His eyes widened as he saw.

The dart had lodged itself deep in the District 10 girl's neck. She turned towards Copper, a look of shock on her face. Adeline continued to cry at her feet.

Copper dropped the dart gun in sudden disgust and terror, and, as he did it, Annua fell to the ground, her mouth open. Adeline crawled away from her as the girl's body began to shake as she experienced some sort of seizure. Copper realized that the dart must have been poisonous. He approached Annua, knowing that she was now in her final moments. Copper couldn't help but cry.

"I told you to get away from her!" he sobbed.

Annua didn't reply, of course. She just continued to shake, until, quite abruptly, she lay still. Her eyes stared up at Copper, unseeing. The cannon roared. Copper, barely thinking, immediately pried the sickle-like sword out of her still warm hands. He pulled the dart from her neck, just as leaves began to blow everywhere. The hovercraft was here. It picked up the limp body of Annua before vanishing.

Copper raced to Adeline.

"Are you okay?" he said breathlessly, knowing that the answer was no.

"I'm...okay," she groaned in response. "I'm bleeding, and my arm hurts super badly, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Copper said disbelieving, unzipping the girl's jacket to get a better look.

On her upper arm was a long, thin gash. It wasn't overly deep; somehow the thick jacket that Adeline had been wearing, along with her underclothes, had absorbed most of the sword's impact. Copper immediately grabbed the yellow fabric from the Cornucopia, tying it delicately around Adeline's wound.

"There," he said, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "It'll all be fine."

"It will be fine," Adeline repeated back, looking at Copper with concerned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"She was about to fucking slice you in half," Copper retorted, tears leaking from his eyes. "I had to do it."

"Copper, I'd be dead without you. I don't blame you whatsoever. You saved my life…"

_I've already killed someone._


	15. Blue Light

Copper zipped his jacket tighter around his shivering frame. Overnight, the woods had appeared to have changed. Mist cut through the jagged, deciduous trees like spears, and frost glistened on the ground. There was so much of it, Copper wondered if it was actually a dusting of snow that had fallen when he was asleep. It appeared as if the seasons were changing. He had been awake during fall, murdered a girl, and then somehow fell asleep. Now, he was in a different world. Many of the trees had lost a significant amount of leaves. The atmosphere was cerulean and frosty. Dim, bluish light scattered every which way.

_Already? But everything appeared to be in the heart of fall yesterday._

“Maybe it’s because of your hair,” Adeline said, examining her wrapped arm. “You know, unfair camoflauge advantage.”

Copper grimaced. “Maybe. But I can’t help but think that people might have been getting bored with the fall colors already. Anyway, it makes it harder to see the blood from fights between tributes...too much red everywhere.”

Adeline didn’t reply. It was messed up, but probably true. The more violence, the better. The Capitol didn’t want anything to detract from the delicious bloodshed. 

“What do we do now?” Adeline said instead, finally taking her eyes away from her wound. 

Copper shrugged. “I guess we just...keep going the way we were going. I’d like to get as far away from everyone as possible.” He looked down at the sickle-sword. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the weapon to Adeline. “You’d be better off with this than me. I’ve got my dart gun.”

Adeline nodded, enclosing her hand around the sword’s handle. It was bizarre how its owner was now dead. Copper still was unable to comprehend what had happened last night. His mind felt numb. The chilly, bluish atmosphere of the woods sent him further into his blank state. 

Adeline turned away from him, her breath billowing into the air like thick smoke. “Well, I guess I’ll lead the way, then.”

.

.

.

Victoree kicked a crate over inside the Cornucopia, the bow still gripped tightly in her hand. “I think that’s all the food,” she said irritably. This cold weather had been a nasty surprise. 

Selene emerged from one of the tents the Career pack had set up, tying her hair into its usual high ponytail. “This kind of sucks,” she said, radiating a similar annoyance to Victoree. She wore a puffy, brown-colored coat, which was the same color as her arena jacket. After the bloodbath, the coat had floated down to her from the sky.

A gift from a sponsor, and really early on too. Victoree wondered what that meant. If someone was sending Selene a coat already, perhaps the weather was going to turn even worse. She hoped this wasn’t the case. 

Cyan stood some way away, staring at the spear in the ground. It had been used by that tall, pale boy from District 8. He nearly killed Copper. Cyan’s blood simmered slightly, and he had to will himself to calm down. How _dare_ that boy try to kill Copper? The boy with the lowest training score of them all? The boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly? Anxiety rippled through him, as the cannon had fired in the early morning. He wondered if it had been the redheaded District 12 tribute. Something told him, however, that it was not. He was with the girl from his district. They would be able to defend themselvse from a lone attacker, would they not?

Victoree’s voice broke through his train of thought. “Cyan, get over here! We need to figure out our plan for today.”

.

.

.

“You like blue, don’t you?” Copper’s voice came out in a whispy breath of fog.

Adeline nodded. “Yeah, everything is really...blue, today. It’s actually throwing me off. Yesterday all I could see was red...in more ways than one. Now, it seems like everything has changed.”

“It reminds me of when we got picked for the Hunger Games.” Copper replied. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, one second we were in District 12, and the next second, we were at the Capitol. One moment, we were in a world of warm colors, and now we are surrounded by the cold.”

“That’s deep,” Adeline said thoughtfully, turning around to look at him. “You’re a funny one, Copper. But there’s still some red in our world.” She looked at the top of his head. 

“Ha-ha.”

.

.

.

Pascal rubbed her frozen fingers together. 

“Cold,” she murmured to herself. 

_Fortran’s dead. Fortran’s dead. Fortran’s dead._

“I’m _aware_ ,” the tiny girl said irritably, kicking stones out of her way. Her brain hadn’t been able to shut off. It was like she was constantly processing the same, useless information twenty-four seven. That’s all she did back home. The same coding, all the time. 

_Pascal._ Even her name was a God-forsaken programming language. 

Everything felt dark and blue, but Pascal wasn’t sure if it had much to do with the rapidly changing scenery. Fortran being gone really did impact her, even if she didn’t see his demise. It was weird, considering she didn’t even know him before they were picked for the Hunger Games. They hadn’t even talked. Still, though, he was the only person who came with her from home and into this devastating dimension of entertainment and death. She knew she would die soon, too. On the contrary, she was surprised that she outlived Fortran. 

_I guess that’s what happens when you turn_ **_away_ ** _from the bloodbath instead of willingly racing into it._ Her stomach grumbled.

She was walking amongst craggy terain, pebbles littering everywhere. There were trees nearby, but what stood between Pascal and them was a giant chasm. Giant boulders stood in the other direction. Pascal knew that she had run the wrong way during the bloodbath, but this way had been closer to her pedestal. It was strange how the brain functioned on fight-or-flight mode. 

Suddenly, Pascal heard a laugh. It was close by, and the girl’s heart sank. More laughter followed. _The Career pack_.

She did what any sensible person would do, and raced over to a cluster of the boulders, encasing herself in their shadows. It was a good hiding spot. Nobody would be able to see her, granted that they didn’t do even the slightest bit of investigating the attention-grabbing boulders. 

“There are _way_ too many weaklings left,” Victoree moaned, sounding like she was extra stubborn about doing her morning chores. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” the voice of Flint boomed back, echoing due to the chasm. “That District 3 girl will probably get eaten by mutts, or something. The District 12 pair won’t last much longer. The District 6 girl might be around for a while, but we won’t have any trouble killing her. Other than them, I forget who’s even left.”

Pascal covered her mouth, desperate to not make any noise. This was the worst possible situation. She’d rather jump off that cliff than get slashed by a Career’s sword. Even Victoree would probably purposely shoot her a few times for fun before actually landing the killing hit. 

She knew their names, yes. It wasn’t difficult for Pascal to remember information, even if that information was the bizarre names of children in her fellow districts. Children who wanted to kill her.

Luckily, the voices of the Career pack began to fade away. They passed her without a second glance. Wasn’t there an ounce of curiosity in them to explore the gigantic boulders, and what might be hiding within? 

She thought of Fortran. Pascal didn’t really have much experience with the whole “death” thing. Nobody she knew had ever died. She didn’t have a depressing backstory of a harsh life in her home district. Pascal was Pascal. Her family was middle class, she always had enough to eat, and the Capitol’s controlling hands didn’t seem to impact her life as horribly as say, someone who lived in District 12. Pascal felt sheltered and privileged. 

_Maybe if my life was actually hard, I’d stand a better chance,_ she thought bitterly. It made perfect sense that District 3 tributes fared so badly in the Hunger Games. There was no useful skill that they learned that could relate to survival. Her district didn’t specialize in lumber, or masonry, or anything that would give her the ghost of a skill with a tool or weapon. All she knew were flickering computer screens and lines of code. Greyish factories and crowded streets. It _was_ a hard life. But not the same type of hard that some of the other districts were. 

.

.

.

The sun had just sunk over the horizon, but some of its light still remained. Twilight. The atmosphere had achieved that bluish, dark look once again. It was like the color of magic, in a way. A darker magic than Copper would’ve thought about on his own, but magic all the same. It was sort of depressing. He popped a cracker into his mouth, taking his time to chew it as slowly as humanly possible. It wouldn’t be long until they ran out of food. 

Adeline pushed a lock of her long, ashen hair behind her ear. She almost looked like Asher in that moment, at least to Copper. Their hair colors were so similar. Even the way Adeline sat seemed to mirror the boy’s old posture. 

They didn’t speak. The woods had thinned out greatly, much to Copper’s disappointment. It would be way easier to see them now. He sat against a tree, his back pushed against the rough bark. Adeline was to his right, and to his left, the forest ended. There was a deep chasm that stretched several yards. On the other side, there were giant boulders. And...a campfire.

Copper did a double take. How had they not seen this?

“Adeline, look,” he breathed, pointing over the chasm. 

She turned her head tiredly, not taking his words seriously. That is, until she saw the fire. “Whose is that?” she said.

Copper shook his head. “No idea.”

That’s when they heard the laughter. Adeline stood up, and walked closer to the edge of the chasm. 

“Adeline!” Copper hissed, annoyed that she would approach it. What if they were seen?

“Nobody over there can hurt me,” she replied, annoyed. “We are over here, and they are over there. It’s way too far to jump.”

_Thwap._

As if on cue, an arrow lodged itself in the ground only feet from Adeline. Copper’s breath caught in his throat. Before he could say anything, Adeline was racing back to the tree and concealing herself behind it. 

“Oh God,” she said, terrified. “Victoree.”

Copper looked out from behind the tree. Before, he had seen only the glow of the fire. Now, there were six figures standing at the chasm. One of them was Cyan.

“Heeeey Inferno Faggot!” Victoree yelled obnoxiously. Another arrow flew in their direction, lodging itself in the tree Copper was concealing himself in. 

“Stop wasting arrows,” Pike said, an annoyed tone in his voice. 

Victoree turned to him. “Fuck off,” she said, her voice coming out in a low, intimidating tone. Copper realized how different it sounded from her bubbly conversation with Caesar.

“Yeah, okay, bitch.”

What happened next, Copper wasn’t entirely sure. Pike was standing at the edge of the chasm, looking down, and then, Victoree was lunging at him. Pike was screaming. The sound of a body hitting the ground followed, dirt and stones falling into the chasm. Copper couldn’t bear to look. Victoree was on top of Pike, punching him repeatedly. 

Then, an agonizing scream erupted from the District 4 boy as he fell over the edge of the chasm. His scream radiated through the abyss, growing fainter and fainter as he plummeted through the air. The cannon roared.

Victoree pulled herself to her feet. Her apperance was growing more and more...untidy. She still looked beautiful, that was for certain, but she looked...dirty. And ravenous for something.

 _She’s going to win this,_ Copper realized. 

“Anyone else want to fuck with me?” Victoree snarled, pointing her bow first at Quay, then at Flint and Selene, and finally at Cyan. 

Nobody replied. 

Victoree turned around to face him. “You’ll be dead soon too, fire crotch!” she yelled across the chasm, her words magnified by its depth. 

Copper didn’t reply. Instead, he was looking at Cyan. The boy stood behind the rest of the group. As Victoree spoke, he shook his head at Copper. Not in a comical way, but a serious way. It gave Copper goosebumps.

 _What, I won’t be dead soon?_ he wondered sarcastically. 

Then, the Career pack vanished behind the boulders. Cyan looked over his shoulder one final time at Copper before disappearing with the rest of them. 

Almost immediately, _Horn of Plenty_ began to play. The Capitol seal appeared in the sky, illuminating the darkness. Pike was shown first. Copper immediately shut his eyes, knowing what was to come next. Annua. He opened his eyes once more, only to catch a glimpse of Millet before her image was replaced by the Capitol seal. 

_Three gone on the second day,_ Copper thought. _And I’m responsible for one of them._

The fact that he had actually killed someone still wasn’t setting in. Copper felt numb. All he could think about was Annua slashing at Adeline, trying her very best to kill the girl. He knew that later, he would collapse with the realization that he had taken someone’s breath from them for good. But for now, all he felt was nothingness. Nothing but cold shock. 

“Thirteen gone already,” Adeline murmured thoughtfully. “That’s over half.”

“Yeah,” was all that Copper could say in response. It wasn’t that out of the ordinary. The bloodbath at the Cornucopia typically claimed the lives of roughly eight (in rare cases) to fourteen (in even more rare cases) tributes. He wondered briefly when he was going to die.

.

.

.

Copper was dreaming. He stood outside his home in District 12, the familiar trees surrounding it billowing in the wind. He felt a warm, rough hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he expected to see his brother, Steel. Instead, a pair of green eyes looked down at him. Cyan.

“Hey, Copper,” he said quietly, his husky voice clearer than ever. 

“What are you doing here?” Copper asked. Why _was_ Cyan here, in District 12? 

“I won the Hunger Games, and now I visit you whenever I want to,” Cyan said, as if it was obvious. He grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth. Copper hadn’t noticed the moles that lined his neck until that moment. They were like constellations. 

“But how am I here, then? Copper replied, suddenly remembering that they went to the Games together. “Two people can’t win the Games.”

Cyan didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled Copper close to his chest, entrapping him in a warm, strong hug. It felt good. It felt safe. Is this what it was to be happy? Copper knew the answer was yes. District 12 wasn’t depressing anymore, not with Cyan here. 

The dream ended. Copper crashed back down to reality. 

_What is my problem?_ he thought. It wasn’t normal to be dreaming about Cyan like that. He was a _Career,_ after all. But it was hard to ignore the fact that Cyan had always been nice to him. He had always tried to talk to Copper. 

_It’s all an act,_ the survivalist said in a bored voice. 

Yes, it probably was.


	16. Flashbacks

Cerritulus stared at the screen. Copper was asleep against a tree, the dark chasm a few yards away from him and Adeline. He was proud of them, but extremely worried. It wasn’t often that District 12 tributes made it past the bloodbath, let alone the second day. Cerritulus was used to watching his tributes die less than ten minutes into the Games. He usually followed this with an ample amount of liquor, and then ignored the rest of the competition until its conclusion. 

But now, he was forced to keep watching. This time, he had hope, even if it was only the slightest glimmer of it. For as long as Copper and Adeline were in this, he would continue to watch as if his life depended on it.

At the moment, he had been exhausting his efforts into getting the pair some gifts from sponsors. It was terribly difficult trying to convince rich Capitol residents to sponsor the lower-upper districts, let alone 10, 11, and 12. Luckily, Cerritulus had a few people who had taken an interest in Copper, and one who adored Adeline. Some of them already had gift ideas, but Cerritulus was choosing to wait a little longer. He didn’t want to waste these sponorships on frivolous gifts. He was going to wait until Copper or Adeline were truly desperate. That is when he would send a gift. 

Livia emerged from the shadows, a cup of coffee gripped tightly in her fuscia-nailed hand. “I knew he was special,” she said, motioning at Copper’s sleeping frame. “I know he didn’t believe me when I said it, but I really do think that he stands a chance.”

“I agree, Livia,” Cerritulus sighed. “At first, I wasn’t sure, with his low training score and all. But now, I do notice something special in Copper than I can’t say I have seen in any of my other tributes who I have mentored. Adeline as well. I almost wish they had been picked in different years, that way there’d be a chance that they both could come back to us.”

Livia nodded. “I understand. But without Adeline, Copper would have less will to fight. Without Copper, that District 10 girl would’ve killed Adeline. They are keeping each other alive.”

.

.

.

Cyan followed the rest of the pack. He knew Victoree was going to get like this, but he hadn’t realized how fast her deterioration would occur. She already killed one of the Careers off, and he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before she lost her temper again. 

Selene was athletic and could take down any tribute from a non-Career district, but her thin frame wouldn’t be much of a match against Victoree’s viscious attacks. 

Flint was strong, but he wasn’t smart. Cyan pictured Victoree stabbing him in the dead of night. 

The image of Pike crashing over the chasm invaded his mind. Would the Career pack collapse early this year?

.

.

.

Copper pulled his hood over his head. His ears were so cold. Snow was flurrying down from the dark sky. He stood up and walked to the edge of the chasm, staring down into the dark abyss with fearful eyes. He couldn’t see anything, but there was a faint noise coming from the bottom, albeit it was almost inaudible. Perhaps he was just imagining things. 

“Hey, Cop, about to commit suicide?”

Copper turned to see Adeline standing up slowly, her mouth contorting into a mischievious smile. 

“You caught me,” Copper joked. “Figured I’d end it all before Leif can axe me in the face.”

Adeline didn’t respond. Instead, she scooped up a pile of frost from a nearby rock and put it into her mouth.

“Whaf? I’m thirfty,” she said through a mouthful of snow. 

Copper didn’t judge her. Come to think of it, he was quite thirsty as well. 

Suddenly, a loud beeping sound rang through the air. A parachute was falling gracefully towards them. Copper worried for a moment that it would fall into the chasm, but no, it landed neatly in the clearing between him and Adeline. The metal container opened with a loud _pop!_

“Ooo, what is it?” Adeline said, rushing over to the capsule. 

She pulled out two metallic bottles. “Water bottles! And they’re heavy. I think something is already in them!”

She immediately took a sip. “Mmm, it’s warm! Tastes like strawberries. We can use the bottles later, too! Like fill them up with frost or water or something!”

Copper nodded, pulling the note from the capsule that Adeline had rejected. 

_I was planning on only sending you things you may desperately need, but it looks like you both have a lot of admirers here in the Capitol! The drink is infused with electrolytes and should help hydrate you sufficiently. I noticed that you both haven’t been drinking much. I am so proud of you!_

_Cerritulus (and Livia)_

Copper looked up at the sky, knowing a camera was focusing on his face somehow. “Thank you so much, to whoever sent us these. And thank you, Cerritulus.”

.

.

.

_The hovercraft picked up the limp, lifeless body of Annua. Copper pretended he didn’t even notice it. The sickle sword he had just pried from her lax hands was still warm from the girl’s touch. He raced to Adeline. She couldn’t be dead, could she?_

Copper awoke with a start. _Another nightmare._ It was scary how much Annua was impacting him, even in death. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of the dart lodging itself in her throat over and over again. It was glued to his eyelids, playing like a film stuck on repeat. Every time he shut his eyes, he was plunged into the haunting memories that he wished he could forget. Juniper’s bloody face, Fortran’s vacant expression as an arrow lodged itself in his chest...

Adeline was already awake, chewing on a cracker. 

“We’re dangerously low on food,” she said quietly, rummaging in her bag to find another cracker for Copper. “I don’t know what we’re going to do next.”

“I’m not sure either,” Copper admitted. He knew that his dart gun couldn’t be used on animals; the poison in the darts would render them inedible. “The Cornucopia seems like the only option, but I don’t know if I’m willing to risk it.”

Adeline nodded. “Yeah, I thought about that as well. But let’s wait a little longer. I don’t have much hope about finding any living plants now, so that’s probably not an option. We’ve come a long way from the Cornucopia. It seems pointless just to go back now.”

Copper didn’t want to go back to the Cornucopia; it contradicted his desire to put as much distance between himself and the other tributes as possible. But why did it matter? The goal of the Games wasn’t to stay away from everyone. His chances of surviving would hardly be increased if he managed to outlive a few more tributes due to avoidance. After all, Adeline needed to be protected, even if he was the least intimidating protector in the entire Games. 

They walked for a while along the side of the chasm. Copper felt at peace, even if it was fleeting. The abyss comforted him, as morbid as that was. He found solace in the fact that if anyone tried to hurt him now, he could slip over the edge, ending everything himself. It was a groteqsue and disordered thought process, that was for sure. But the Hunger Games brought out the most despairing emotions in everyone, save for maybe Victoree and some other Career tributes. 

After several hours of walking, Copper noticed that the distance between each side of the chasm was growing closer and closer to one another. It was closing up, albeit very slowy. Adeline seemed to have noticed this as well. 

“The gap is getting thinner,” she said, coughing slightly while pointing nonchalantly in its general direction. The action seemed almost stiff from her, and the girl’s voice was a little hoarse. 

Copper didn’t know how to feel about that. It made it seem as if the Careers were closer to them after all, since the dark space in between them was closing up. Perhaps they were far away from the chasm by now, though. 

“How’s your arm?” Copper asked, afraid that his detection of something amiss was true.

“It’s alright,” Adeline said strangely. Copper could hear the evasiveness in her voice. “It feels a little numb, but this is the Hunger Games, so what can I expect? It could be way worse. Plus, it’s my right arm. I’m left-handed, so it won’t interfere with my ability to use the sickle.”

Copper felt dread rising in his throat. It was getting colder outside by the day, Adeline was injured, and from the sound of it, possibly getting sick. 

He thought about Cyan, and how the boy had protected him from Weft. What would happen if Copper came face to face with him and the rest of the Career pack? Would his fakeness evaporate, being replaced by aggression and violence? Would he approach Copper and Adeline, sword wielding and ferocious, only to cut them up into smithereens? It wouldn’t be the first time a Distrct 1 tribute slashed through both District 12 kids in the same year. 

Somehow, though, a feeling inside Copper told him that this wasn’t the case. Victoree would be the one to really try to hurt them. He couldn’t see Cyan attempting to inflict much damage, but he hadn’t stayed long at the initial Cornucopia bloodbath. Perhaps many of the deaths that occurred there fell at the hands of Cyan. Weft’s death most certainly had been. 

.

.

.

 _“Get_ **_up_ ** _!” Volant screamed at Axle, dragging him away by the armpits from Selene’s bloodied baton. The boy sputtered pitifully._

_Selene wasn’t paying attention anymore; she had returned to Flint’s side in order to secure more supplies from the Cornucopia. Apparently she believed that Axle was finished._

_Volant agreed. Even amidst the chaos of bloodbath, time seemed to slow down. She examined Axle’s bloodied abdomen, dread seeping into her stomach. The feeling was heavy, like she had just swallowed a ball of tar. It hurt her to see Axle like this._

_“I’m… fucked,” Axle managed to say, his breathing shaky and uneven. “Get out...of here. Go.” His eyes were unfocused and confused. The drug withdrawal and the fact that he had just gotten slashed or stabbed (Volant didn’t know which) multiple times wasn’t helping the boy’s communication. There was no way he was going to get out of this alive._

_“No,” Volant replied, although she didn’t sound so sure. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m not going to do that.”_

_Axle almost laughed. “Get out of here, now. Don’t...be an idiot. I’m dying. I can feel it.”_

.

.

.

Volant let out a scream, not caring if anyone heard her. How could she have left Axle? That wasn’t the person she was. Yet, she had. One second of selfish thought had led her to abandoning the boy in his last moments of life. What did people in District 6 think of her? 

She was so frustrated. It was the kind of frustration that left her muscles tense and her eyes leaking with tears. Tears of anger, sadness, and disappointment. 


	17. Taste of Home

_A seven year-old Adeline watched the television screen inside her dilapidated District 12 home intently. Upon it, a girl on dry, sandy terrain was being cornered by gigantic, black and purple lizards. She screamed as the first one lunged at her, its teeth gleaming dark yellow in the sunlight._

_Muttations._

.

.

.

The next few days brought nothing but anxious anticipation. It was now day 6 of the Hunger Games, and nobody had died since Pike. Copper wondered what else was happening within the arena. Was it enough to keep people entertained?

Adeline’s arm was not in fact getting better. Instead, it appeared to be turning...black. The color went down its length, speckled and strange, almost as if it was some sort of disease that was spreading. 

Thick, wet snow fell from the sky, its seeping cold chilling the two District 12 tributes to the bone. Worry clawed at Copper’s mind. Adeline was not in good shape. That infection or whatever it was could be blood poisoning. Of course he did not let on that he was scared for her, as that would’ve only made things worse. 

The Hunger Games were so morbid and evil. The _Capitol_ was evil. Everyone who supported the event, everyone who got joy from seeing kids killing kids...they were all blackened souls with no moral compasses. They were disgusting, they were—

 _Shut up, Copper,_ the survivalist said. 

Adeline didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to be wounded and sick. 

“I hate snow,” she said, reaching into her jacket pocket and putting on her gloves.

Copper had to agree, although he had a feeling that it wouldn’t snow too much, at least not yet. There was less than an inch on the ground. The dusting of it made the arena look mysterious and pure, especially on the barren trees. In fact, the snowfall seemed to be slowing down…

Then, suddenly, it stopped. It was so artificial, so unnatural in the way that the weather occurred. No way would that happen in a real environment that wasn’t manufactured for entertainment. Copper was shocked that his prediction had come true, and so quickly after the initial thought.

“I guess the Gamemakers heard you,” Copper laughed, pointing up at the now empty sky. It was dark and malignant looking.

The two sat in silence for a while.

“Hey Copper,” Adeline began. “What’s your favorite food?”

Copper was taken aback. “Hm?” he asked.

“I realized that I really don’t know much about you. Well, I know you like green, but that’s about it.”

Copper thought for a few moments. “I love pies. My mom makes the best ones back in District 12, even if it’s on a rare occurrence.”

Adeline smiled. “Pie,” she said slowly, closing her eyes, inhaling as if she could smell it, as if one was really there. “What kind?”

Copper shrugged. “Pumpkin, apple, blueberry...any kind of pie, really. I remember one time my mom made peanut butter pie. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Oooh, that sounds so yummy,” Adeline said. “I’ve never had peanut butter pie. I’d have to say that my favorite food is macaroni and cheese. Nothing better on a cold winter’s day, ya know? I always feel extra full after I eat it.”

Copper nodded, understanding completely. “That’s part of the reason I love pie,” he said, his stomach rumbling. “It’s so filling and rich. I love macaroni and cheese too. When my mom buys a block of cheddar, I always hope that we use it for that. But it’s hard to get pasta.”

“Yeah.” Adeline’s expression changed. The mischievous grin was back. It was the same grin she had displayed to Caesar Flickerman during her interview. “Okay,” she said, clearly trying to smother her smile, “Have you ever...liked anyone?”

Copper froze, his heart suddenly beating very fast. “You mean like, _like_ like?”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “You actually use that phrase? Blegh. But yes, I mean _like like_.”

Copper shrugged. “Not really,” he said honestly, wracking his brain for some semblance of a memory of a past crush. He liked Asher...but did he _like_ like Asher? Copper supposed that he _did_ love the boy; they were best friends, after all. 

But he didn’t get butterflies in his stomach when Asher was around. He didn’t think about kissing him. Anyway, they were way younger when Asher was reaped. That type of thing had never been on Copper’s mind back then.

Then, the image of Cyan entered Copper’s brain. He pushed it away hastily, uncomfortable with the intrusive thought. 

“Okay,” Adeline said, looking at him a little too long. 

“What about you?” he asked. “Ever liked anyone?”

“I liked this kid named Zachary for a while,” she said. “But he turned out to be a huge jerk. He lied to all these people about me sleeping with him. Everyone thinks I’m a tease now.”

Copper grimaced. “Well, now they all know the truth,” he said quietly. “You have no reason to lie on national television."

“True, screw you, Elizabeth!” Adeline said, laughing and looking up at the sky, clearly hoping a camera was on her. “She helped spread all those lies.”

.

.

.

Adeline looked pale. 

It had been another day of walking, but more slowly this time. Adeline appeared to be slowing down, much to Copper's worry. They weren't covering as much distance now, and the girl's injury seemed to be bothering her more.

“How’s your arm?” Copper asked.

“Not great.”

He sighed. This wasn’t good. He said a silent prayer, hoping that something would come of it. 

Surprisingly, something did.

After a few minutes of silence, a beeping noise permeated the air. Another capsule containing a sponsor gift drifted down from the sky. 

“Oooh,” Adeline breathed, catching the gift in her hands. It appeared to have been sent directly to her. “I wonder what this could be!”

She clicked open the capsule with trembling hands. Whether it was from excitement, the cold, or the pain in her arm, Copper didn’t know.

Inside was some sort of salve, and a loaf of warm, steaming bread. 

_To stop the infection. Use immediately. The bread is for Copper, as strictly stated by the sponsor._

_Cerritulus_

“It’s for my arm,” Adeline said immediately, unscrewing the lid and shrugging her jacket off. “I’m going to put some on now. The bread is for you, Copper.”

“Here, let me help you,” Copper said, taking the salve from her as she placed her jacket on the ground. He ignored the bread.

The salve was smooth and buttery-looking. Copper scooped a generous amount of it out, spreading it evenly and thickly on Adeline’s blackening arm.

“Ohhh,” she said, inhaling sharply. “It feels so cold...but in a wonderful way.”

Copper was relieved. Perhaps Adeline would be alright after all. He handed the salve to her as she placed her jacket back on. She then put it into the pocket, keeping it safe from the harsh weather outside. 

“Thank you so much,” Adeline said to the sky, her voice sounding truly grateful. “This is the best gift I have ever received in my entire life.”

Copper removed the bread now, immediately breaking a piece off and handing it Adeline. “I don’t care that it’s meant for me, we are a team, and I want you to have some.”

.

.

.

The two walked slowly by the chasm. They had reached its end; the distance between both sides was closing up completely in only a few hundred yards. Copper was glad, even though he had viewed the chasm with comfort only several days prior. It had grown repetitive and depressing, and his worries about how slowly he and Adeline were moving only seemed to be perpetuated by its constant presence.

“Let’s just cross,” Adeline said, looking at the other side. It was littered with gigantic boulders. 

Copper felt anxiety stab his chest. The terrain looked a lot like where Asher had died in his Hunger Games. The memories of his final moments plagued Copper’s mind like a swarm of locusts. But they had to move on. That's what this whole thing was about...moving on. He supposed that was what _life_ was about. Things change, sceneries change, and people die. 

“Okay,” he said, determined to not let Adeline know how difficult this would be for him.

It went silent for a time. The snow seemed to be holding off, at least momentarily. A small breeze whispered through the maze of boulders, chilling Copper as he walked. The _crunch_ of pebbles beneath his feet seemed far too loud. 

Finally, Adeline spoke again, but it wasn’t in the sarcastic voice Copper hoped it would be. “Sorry that I got hurt,” she said. “I know I’m slowing us down.”

Copper kept his eyes on her back as the two continued to walk. “You can’t help that someone attacked you,” he said carefully, hoping to bring the girl’s spirits up. “Plus, you aren’t slowing us down. It’s not like your leg is hurt.”

Adeline stopped abruptly and turned to face Copper. “I don’t want to get you killed, Copper,” she said. “I don’t want you to die because of me. If I can’t win this, and honestly, I don’t really think that I can, then I want you to.”

Copper felt tears welling in his eyes. “What? But I’m a wimp. Your training score is literally double mine. You’re taller and stronger. You know _I_ can’t win.”

Adeline shook her head. “Training scores don’t matter, you should know that. And you’ve already killed someone. I haven’t.”

Annua’s seizing body invaded Copper’s mind. He bit back bile. 

“And,” Adeline continued, “You’ve managed to keep us safe for this long. You ran to me at the Cornucopia to make sure I was safe. You’re stronger than you think. Maybe you can win this. See your family again. Live in a mansion in the Victors Village. Prove Cerritulus right, that District 12 can win. And prove everyone else wrong.”

Copper shook his head. No matter what Adeline said, he was still the same weakling he had been before. The winner of the 42nd Hunger Games wouldn’t be him. It would be Cyan, or Victoree, or some other Career. Even Volant and Leif seemed to be proper candidates. But him? No, no way. “I have no more chance of winning than you. And, after all, we are a team. I am not going on without you. So let’s not think about what’s to come. Not now.”

“Alright,” was all Adeline said. 

They stopped to rest. Adeline was munching on the last cracker they had. Copper broke off another piece of bread, chewing it thoughtfully. It tasted like home. The feeling that it brought to Copper was tinged with sadness and longing. His previous conversation with Adeline surfaced into the forefront of his mind.

He pictured himself standing amongst the bodies of the Careers, all who were dead at his feet. He could hear the announcer saying, _“Ladies and gentleman, the victor of the 42nd Hunger Games...Copper Hurst!”_

 _No, Copper,_ a voice inside of him said. _How could you even allow yourself to think like that? The Careers have been training for this for_ **_years_** _. What chance do you really stand? Pull your head out of the clouds, and get a grip. You could be killed off at any second, your death just another aimless, forgotten casualty from the weakest district. Nobody will remember your name, and you certainly will not win the Hunger Games._

As much as Copper hated to side with this pessimistic part of his mind, it was right. Whoever won the Games that year, it wouldn’t be him.

**_BOOM!_ **

Copper shook, hitting his back against a boulder in pure shock. _The cannon!_

“Oh, God,” Adeline said, staring up at the sky. “I wonder who that was?”

Copper shook his head. “I have no idea.”

.

.

.

.

District 11 was quiet as they watched. The hovercraft materialized out of almost nothingness, scooping the mutilated body of Iris up amongst the scratching and biting of the muttations. Her hand dangled grotesquely out from under her, blood gushing down her dark skin. 

_Iris awoke, her heart thundering. The pain...it was so unbearable. Those polar bear things...their eyes radiated red…_

_But she wasn’t in pain anymore. She sat up. It was sunny, wherever she was. The District 11 girl looked around, puzzled, before staring down at her body. She was shocked to see that the wounds that she had sustained were now gone. Getting to her feet, all she saw was a vast field continuing on for miles, a few trees scattered here and there. It looked like home._

_Home. Iris didn’t think she’d ever go home again. Here, it clearly wasn’t District 11, even if it did seem familiar. It was much better._

_“Iris.”_

_The girl turned. She knew that voice anywhere._

_“Mattock?” she asked, surprised. He had died in the bloodbath. The District 1 boy. Iris remembered it all too well. “How are you even alive? How am I alive?”_

_The boy looked pristine. His skin glowed in the sunlight, and his white shirt was crisp and bright. Navy suspenders held up a pair of tan pants, although the boy was not wearing shoes._

_“We’re somewhere else now,” Mattock said simply, as if it was utterly obvious. “The districts don’t exist here. Isn’t it great? I’ve been waiting for you.”_


	18. Adeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t hate me...

_Asher leaned against the boulder, his heart hammering in his chest. He was so tired; running wasn’t a strength of his. That was a Copper thing._

_Copper. Thank goodness that Asher had been chosen for the Games and not him. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if their places were switched, if the redhead was in the arena and he was back at home. This whole experience had been vile._

_He could hear the girl from District 1 snickering as she approached the boulder he was concealing himself behind. Soon, she would discover exactly where he was hiding._

.

.

.

Copper stared up at the Capitol seal as Iris’ face flickered in the sky, illuminating the falling snow around it. The girl resembled him, although not in her physical characteristics, but rather the expression she wore. Afraid.

“I wonder who killed her?” Adeline said.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Copper replied. He didn’t want to know who or what had killed the girl. Something inside of him stirred; District 11 was almost as poor as District 12. He felt as if he could relate to the tributes from the agriculture district more than those from any of the others. 

.

.

.

After a night of somewhat decent rest, the two continued their walk through the boulder-ridden terrain. Copper heard a faint roar several hours later, indicating that their journey was far from over. 

“Mutts,” Adeline said, her voice riddled with dread. “We need to keep moving, and fast.”

Copper agreed. 

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Adeline asked, apparently trying to continue their personal conversation from before. 

Copper had to think about this one. As far as he was concerned, there was no more growing up. Sure, perhaps his growth spurt wasn’t in its final stage, but it would never get there. The body he was in now was the body he would die in; he was preserved in this state of youth for all of eternity. He knew he wouldn’t grow old and have a mundane job.

“I guess I’d like to work as someone who heals animals or something,” he said honestly, expecting Adeline to make fun of him. Instead, she replied with candid kindness.

“Oh, really? That’s cool, but I can definitely understand why. You _are_ a healing person. I mean, you have a sort of aura that makes people feel better, I think. Maybe that’s why I like you. I don’t like most people, either. Maybe that’s even why Paisley wanted to be your friend, and,” she stopped for a moment. “Maybe that’s why Cyan couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Copper stopped. “Do you really think so? I mean, I’m not so interesting. I was never good at making friends back home.”

Adeline shrugged. “I think anyone would be lucky to consider you their friend. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, even if we only saw each other in passing before being thrust into this whole thing.”

Copper felt his heart leap with astonishment and awe. “You’re my best friend, too.”

.

.

.

 **_Adeline_ ** _is a feminine given name meaning 'noble' or 'nobility'. It is of_ [ _French_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_language) _origins and is a diminutive of_ [ _Adèle_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adele_\(given_name\)) _._

.

.

.

After hours of trudging onward and half a dozen blisters later, Adeline and Copper finally stopped. 

“I’m not sure we should stop just yet,” Adeline said tiredly. “But I’m exhausted.” She sat down, leaning her back against a boulder. Her eyes shut for a moment.

Copper climbed up a rock, looking to make sure there was nothing off in the distance approaching them. He saw nothing. “Just go to sleep, Adeline. I’ll keep watch.”

...

The moment Copper’s eyes opened, he knew that he had made a fatal error. He was supposed to be keeping watch. He was supposed to be making sure nobody came to hurt Adeline. Something had awoken him, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t the uncomfortable ground that he had been sleeping on. 

A snarl pierced the night, its ferocity causing Copper to jump. His question had been answered. Adeline jerked awake.

“W-What was that?” she said groggily, the sleep fading from her eyes in only seconds. “I know I heard something.”

“It was a roar,” Copper whispered. “Some kind of animal. Maybe a bear? I’m not sure. But it sounded close.”

“We need to move, and fast,” Adeline said, wincing as she felt her arm. Grabbing the sickle sword, she shuffled toward Copper, extending her hand to the boy. It was scarcely dawn, but here they were, on the move. Copper didn’t object. Muttations were scarier than Career tributes. 

**_ROAR!_ **

The ear splitting sound cut through the air like shards of glass. Adrenaline immediately began to pump through Copper’s veins. 

It was too late to run, however. The boulders nearby shook as the creature shot in between them.

It was huge. The monster was enormous, standing at over seven feet tall on its gigantic, filthy legs. Its white fur was smeared with dirt. Copper noticed that it was in fact bear-like, but something was very off. The creature’s eyes were red, and so bright that it hurt to look into them. The pupils were vertical like a cat’s, sending a freezing shiver down Copper’s spine. 

It looked completely and utterly demonic. 

_Did this thing kill Iris?_

“Wh-what is that?” Adeline said, taking a step back, her hand gripped tightly on her sickle sword. The girl’s knuckles were white with the sheer pressure of her grip. 

“A...muttation…” Copper trailed off, not taking his eyes away from the thing as it stalked towards them. He fumbled with his dart gun as it made a second otherworldly noise. 

**_ROAR!_ **

_Run, run, run!_ the survivalist shrieked.

“Run,” Copper said tersely, turning immediately on his heel. Adeline followed, sprinting after him, although she wasn’t as fast as he was. Was there any way they could outrun a genetically engineered polar bear?

As he raced forward, hopping awkwardly over rocks and kicking pebbles aside every which way, Copper became aware of Adeline falling behind. The muttation was getting closer and closer; Copper could almost feel its hot breath on their backs. 

Adeline screamed. “Copper!”

As he turned around, the girl fell to the rocky floor, her sickle sword tumbling from her hand. The muttation leapt forward, its long, wicked claws enclosing around the girl’s leg. 

Immediately, Adeline was dragged backward, disappearing behind a boulder. Copper had no time to think. He hastily picked up the fallen sickle sword and raced after her. 

Adeline continued to scream, her sounds of terror quickly becoming ones of pain. 

Copper launched himself over her and at the mutt, every instinct in his body begging him to run away. 

But it was too late. He landed with a _thud!_ on the creature’s back, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of its teeth against Adeline’s flesh. 

Immediately, Copper began to hack away at its neck, one hand on the sword, the other clamped around the mutt’s thick, dirty fur. It loosened its grip slightly on Adeline, but she remained where she was, her screams turning into whimpers of pain. 

“Let! Go! Of! Her!” Copper yelled, continuing to slice at the mutt, blood flying in every direction. 

It was now turning away from Adeline, shaking its back in fury as it tried to rid itself of Copper. The boy knew it would overpower him soon. He plunged the sickle into its back as hard as he could before it shook him violently off. 

Copper flew through the air, landing in the stones hard. 

To his surprise, the mutt took off through the boulders, the sickle still wedged in its back. 

Copper exhaled in relief. His entire body hurt, but nothing seemed severe. The mutt was gone. Why, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were okay. Perhaps the Gamemakers had programmed it to only inflict some damage for excitement purposes. Despicable.

But, he still didn’t care. Adeline was hurt. He got up, hoping that the damage wasn’t too serious, and that he could remark on their sheer dumb luck for not being killed by the beast. 

That’s when he saw her, lying on the ground, her arms clutching a very bloodied leg. Copper felt a wave of nausea rise in his throat, his heart feeling as if it was snapping in half. He could see _bone._

Copper felt as if his entire world was crumbling down. Adeline remained lying on her back on the stony ground, her face in agony. Crimson leaked from her leg, forming a pool around the girl. Claw marks had torn the flesh away on most of her leg, and Copper could see gashes on her abdomen and already wounded arm. 

He battled lightheadedness; there was no way he could faint. Not now. Not when Adeline needed him the most. 

The sky above him opened up, releasing not snow, but rain this time. It fell with a quiet _pitter patter._

Adeline was speaking now, her voice weakening. “It got me,” she breathed, her voice catching in her throat. 

“Shh,” Copper said, desperately trying to conceal the panic that was about to burst from his body. “It’s alright.”

Tears leaked from her eyes. “It-it _hurts_.”

“I know,” Copper said, feeling his eyes well up too. “I know it hurts. Adeline, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry...”

Tears blurred his vision, not unlike when he had shook hands with Adeline at the reaping. “I should have done something. I shouldn’t have let you run behind me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Adeline said, the sarcasm returning to her voice, even in a moment as severe as this. “You’ve done enough for me. More than enough.” A tear slid down the girl’s ashen cheek. “You’re going to win, aren’t you?”

“What?” Copper said, confused by the girl’s words. 

“For us.”

His voice cracked. “You’re going to be fine, Adeline.”

“I’m not going to be fine...but that’s okay.”

Copper squeezed the girl’s hand, sniffling obnoxiously. He was sure that all of the cameras would be on them now. His snot-ridden face would be broadcasted to all of Panem, and Adeline’s horrendous injuries would be shown to the world. How disgusting. 

“Just promise me, Copper,” Adeline gasped. “That you’ll win for Asher. For your family. And,” she struggled to get the words out. “And for m-me.”

Winning? What? Is that what Adeline was really thinking about in this moment? This horrific, traumatic moment? Everything seemed to be slipping away from Copper. Everything that mattered. 

“You’re not going to die,” he said again, the words coming out a little too harshly. He felt the hot tears falling down his cheeks more intensely now. 

“Don’t cry, Copper,” Adeline said, smiling weakly. “I hate to see you cry.”

Copper wiped the tears away with his free hand, his other still intertwined with Adeline’s.

“I’m so tired,” the girl continued, her voice growing softer amidst the rain. “I need to go to sleep.”

Copper fought back a sob. _I won’t cry. I won’t. For her._

“Alright,” he said, false composure collecting in his voice. “But first, I want to tell you about a dream I had.”

Adeline didn’t reply, she just gazed at him with watery grey eyes. They were filled with pain.

“I had a dream that I was back home again,” he began, begging his eyes not to release more tears. “And Asher was there. It made me realize that he isn’t so far away. Death isn’t the end; it doesn’t separate people forever. N-no matter what happens, Adeline, we will be together again someday.”

Adeline smiled. “I like that dream,” she said weakly, squeezing his hand. Her skin was ghostly white.

Copper bent down to kiss the girl’s forehead, his entire body trembling. “I love you, Adeline.”

“I l-love you too, Copper,” Adeline replied. “When you win, I’ll be watching. You were the best friend I could’ve ever asked for.”

Her eyelids began to close.

“Goodnight,” Copper said, kissing her forehead a final time.

And then, he lost it. 

He sat there sobbing, still holding the girl’s hand, until the cannon finally fired.


	19. Hollow

The pain that Copper was in was nearly beyond what his brain could comprehend. It felt as if his mind had been fractured. His heart was torn apart. 

Even after the hovercraft came to retrieve Adeline, Copper stayed where he was. Its dark presence barely phased him. Time seemed to pass slowly that day, and the flurrying snow had disappeared. In its place, the sun filtered through the clouds, a thin ray of light shining onto Copper. At least he felt warm. Physically.

He had no motivation to move. If any tribute, even the weakest, approached him now, they’d have no trouble taking the boy down. He was drained. What was the point, now, that Adeline was dead?

 _Dead._ The thought was enough to send him back into a fit of crying. Copper raised his water bottle to his lips with shaking hands. Death by dehydration due to crying? It could happen, he supposed. 

Copper didn’t want to eat, or sleep, or do anything. All he did was sit there, in the same spot that Adeline had died, thinking about their time together. He felt like he had known her for years, even if they had been friends for barely a few weeks. 

He also wasn’t sure if he even believed in the dream that he had told Adeline about. The world he was in now was the only one he knew, and it was hard to imagine a place devoid of all the horribleness that he had been subjected to. This world had killed Adeline. The dream was meant to make her feel better in her last moments, but Copper had found comfort in it as well. 

But now, with the girl’s body gone, and nothing but the sound of the wind around him, Copper didn’t believe in his little story any longer. He would never feel happy again, at least for the remainder of his time on earth. Which wasn’t much more. 

Adeline’s voice echoed in his mind. _“You’re going to win, aren’t you?”_

She had said it like a revelation, a proclamation. There was no questioning in the girl’s voice. Adeline truly believed that he was going to win. 

But Copper didn’t see any possible way that he could win, and even if he did, he wouldn’t _truly_ win. Nobody wins the Hunger Games, not really. That was the entire point. 

.

.

.

Cerritulus had abandoned the screen several hours ago. He couldn’t continue to watch, not with Copper just sitting there like a statue, all catatonic and unmoving even when Adeline’s body was taken away. He had never felt this way about a tribute before. Adeline’s death was particularly harsh on him, and he thought he knew why. Perhaps it was because the girl actually had talked to Cerritulus. She had given him a chance, however small that chance had been. District 12 tributes always hated him, and their reasoning for this made perfect sense. He lived a life of luxury in the Capitol, only to take two of them from their home every year, leading them to certain death. 

It wasn’t easy. In fact, Cerritulus hated it. He didn’t want to mentor anymore, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. President Snow had ordered him to take on District 12 tributes due to the absence of a living victor, so that was what he did. And would continue to do, presumably, until someone else won. 

But there was work to do. Cerritulus knew what must come next. He had to make this situation right, or at least correct it as much as it could be for how screwed up it was. He had to make Adeline’s last appearance to her family special.

Tributes from the Hunger Games were sent back to their districts in wooden boxes, and this was a process that he had grown to hate over the many years of arranging their shipment to District 12. This year, however, he wanted to do something different.

They weren’t supposed to, but Cerritulus and Livia began planning something. They couldn’t get a proper casket, that was for sure. But perhaps the woman’s artistic abilities could be used on the wooden crate, painting it to mirror that of a real burial casket? She could fix Adeline up; cover the wounds, make her face revert back to how it had been before the Hunger Games took its toll on her. 

.

.

.

Scarlet had been in the square of District 12, watching the Games with family friends for support. What she felt now was indescribable. To watch your sibling die on a giant screen in front of you, in front of uncaring Peacekeepers, in front of _the entire country_ …

She had fled. Scarlet didn’t care that it was mandatory to watch the Hunger Games. She was in bed now, and had no intention of leaving it ever again. 

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours. Scarlet was vaguely aware of a knocking sound coming from downstairs. If it was Peacekeepers enforcing the law, then fuck them. She didn’t care about the law anymore. Adeline was dead. Nothing mattered now. 

She could hear the door opening, and footsteps coming upstairs. She shut her eyes. They would have to pry her from this bed. There was no way she was leaving on her own terms. 

“Scarlet.”

It wasn’t a Peacekeeper. Her eyes flew open, recognizing the voice immediately. “Steel?”

The man stood by her bed, an awkward, stoic expression on his face. 

“Get the hell out!” she screamed, suddenly enraged, tears falling down her face in agony and grief. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this, especially him.

“Scarlet…” Steel said, taking a step closer, apparently not phased by her meltdown. 

He extended his hand out to her, before closing the gap between them entirely. Scarlet kicked and clawed at him for only a moment, before breaking down and sobbing into his shoulder.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Scarlet. About Adeline. She...I really cared about her, too.” Tears were falling from his own eyes now. “Of course, I didn’t know her the way you did, but…”

“Why did they have to pick her?!” Scarlet demanded as she continued to sob. “She always g-got out so much more tesserae than me. Why couldn’t they pick someone we didn’t know?!”

Steel shook his head. He was at a loss for words. Of course there was no answer to that. All he could do was hold her as she cried, all while trying to be the strong one, the one who wouldn’t break down. 

After several minutes, Scarlet pulled away. She looked at Steel with bloodshot, watery grey eyes. “But Copper’s still in the Games,” she said nasally. “He’s doing well. He can come home, and then things will be half-normal a-again. Adeline...is okay now. She’s not in pain a-anymore.”

.

.

.

Copper raised his head as Horn of Plenty began to play. He didn’t care about the stupid tune and its lying lyrics. All he wanted was to see Adeline’s face one last time. 

She looked beautiful as her image flashed across the dark sky. With her blonde hair tucked behind one ear and stern expression, Adeline looked like the person she truly was. She didn’t look afraid, or smug, or vacant like many of the other fallen tributes had. 

Copper began to cry once more. Back when Adeline was alive, he had a reason to keep fighting. He had a purpose in life, and even one in death. But now his district partner was gone…

There was no meaning. Not anymore. He was a hollow shell. A ghost.


	20. Cyan Cordierite

As the face of the District 12 girl illuminated the sky, Cyan Cordierite’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn't even know much about her. What he did know, however, was that she was Copper’s ally and friend. The two appeared to be very close. He wondered, briefly, what had happened to her. There was no way her death was at the hands of Copper. Was the boy alright, without Adeline?

Fifteen tributes were gone now. The numbers were dwindling, and fast. What day of the Games was it, nine? He wasn’t sure. Fifteen tributes were gone forever, and he was the reason behind three of their passings. Weft had tried to kill Copper. And Carob...that was a mercy killing. But Mattock...his death had been Cyan’s choice. He felt so guilty that he had taken the lives from such defenseless children.

The guilt gnawed at him, and it was scary. Cyan wasn’t supposed to feel regret. This was the Hunger Games, after all. It wasn’t in the nature of a Career tribute to be sentimental like this. Anyway, he still had killed people, hadn’t he? The sinking feeling was a weight. It was so unnecessary, and it slowed him down. But it lingered. He knew that he didn’t have Victoree’s vindictive intentions, at least not anymore. She was a more proper Career. They were both efficient, of course. But utterly ruthless was a quality that only one of them now possessed. 

The blonde District 1 girl sat across from him, the campfire illuminating her face. "Well, guess we don’t have to worry about that stupid bitch anymore," she said, jerking her head toward the sky. "I’m shocked that a District 12 girl survived that long. What dumb luck.”

"Yeah, I know!" piped Selene. She had been engaging Victoree more often as of late. Perhaps she too had noticed the girl’s disturbing metamorphosis from beautiful Career tribute to atrocious monster. Cyan somehow doubted it, though. “It’s a good thing she’s gone. Just someone else we don’t have to deal with.”

 _A good thing?_ Cyan thought. _But she’s dead. Oh, wait. This is the Hunger Games._

He wasn’t quite sure why the District 12 girl’s death was tugging so harshly on his heartstrings. Admittedly, his initial killings hadn’t been difficult. But now, Cyan was unsure how he would manage to kill again. His sword shined brightly in the firelight.

“Just four more weaklings left," interrupted Flint. He smiled, inching closer to Victoree. The girl didn’t move away. Cyan grimaced. 

Suddenly, Victoree’s gaze turned to him. "So, who do we go after next? How about the redhead from District 12? It annoys me that he’s still in this. What a wimp. After he dies, everyone will finally shut up about his stupid hair.”

Selene shrugged in apparent indifference. She probably just intended on agreeing with whatever Victoree said. “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. He’s probably the weakest one left. Him or the girl from District 3. I forgot she was even still alive until right now.”

Victoree smiled, her eyes gleaming jade from the light of the fire. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of Cyan. “So, what do you say, _partner_?”

Cyan thought about it. They couldn't be targeting Copper already. Leif, the District 7 boy, was far more of a threat. The District 6 girl was also a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t know if she had any weapons, but Leif certainly did. That hatchet had sliced open the face of his own district partner. Even a Career wouldn’t do that so early on in the Games. 

When comparing Copper to the two of them, he seemed...absolutely weak. Quay had insinuated that she believed Copper was feigning incompetence due to his absurdly low training score. She cited the fact that he survived the bloodbath as further evidence. Cyan, however, knew better. Copper really _was_ that bad. He was completely and utterly terrible, at least in the art of killing. As if it was an art. How absurd. He remembered the boy pulling a bowstring back in the Training Center, sending the arrow flying no more than three feet. Anyway, that District 8 boy had nearly killed him. Cyan was angered by the thought alone. If he hadn't swooped in and gave that boy a piece of his mind, Copper certainly would've been a bloodbath casualty. Another typical District 12 death.

But...Copper _was_ a threat. Maybe not in the way the rest of them were. He was innocent and almost pure. Those were traits that never appeared in the arena, and if they did, they were cut down immediately in the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia. It was almost unbelievable that he had made it this far. The fact that Copper had flourished, glowing bright amongst death and violence and decay... _he was a good person_. And that made him the most dangerous competitor of all. 

He was dangerous because he _wasn’t_ dangerous. Cyan was drawn to people with warm hearts, people who wore their hearts on their sleeves. Copper wasn’t playing a game, though he was the only one.

Everyone was staring at him. Each of his fellow allies had the same vacant, emotionless expression on his or her face. 

“No, not the District 12 boy,” he found himself saying. “We have bigger fish to fry. The boy from District 7? He killed his own district partner, and he’s good with hatchets. The District 12 boy can’t use any sort of weapon, at least that’s what it seemed like in the Training Center.”

Victoree laughed. “I remember him trying to use a bow. What a pathetic excuse for a tribute. I’m _shocked_ he’s still alive. I really don’t get it. But I like your thinking, Cyan. It makes sense to go after the guy from 7. I guess we’ll have to wait a little longer to finish off little fire-crotch. I can’t wait to pierce him with arrow after arrow. I wonder how many I could fire into his pathetic body before he’d actually die? It’s no fun to have a one-hit kill.”

All of them laughed. It was sickening. 

Cyan looked at Quay, then to Selene, then to Flint, and finally, to Victoree. His allies, each one more cruel and callous than the previous. But he knew that if it came down to it, he wouldn’t risk his life to save them. He wouldn’t even go out of his way, except for maybe Quay. She didn’t seem so bad. 

He remembered the chariot ride, when Copper had looked so nervous but excited, waving from his carriage to all of Panem. There had been a small smile on his face, something that Cyan had rarely seen thus far. 

"I'm going to bed," he said, before making his way to his sleeping bag. The sky was growing darker, but he felt warmer here, even separated from the fire. The attitudes of his companions chilled him more than the flurrying sky. His sword lay next to him, hidden underneath the folds of the sleeping bag.

The Hunger Games always seemed so cool. An opportunity to be famous. An absolute _honor_ for District 1 children. Finally, though, reality was sinking in. 

This was not how Cyan had thought the Hunger Games would be. This was a living hell. But he wasn’t going to wake up from this nightmare to find out it was all just a dream. He’d have to keep going. He’d have to make it out of this. 


	21. Dark Water

It was morning, and Copper walked in stiff, robotic strides along the side of the chasm. He had turned away from the boulders a few hours ago, and began trekking in reverse. The whole atmosphere of that place brought his mental state into even darker territory. What was the point of going any further? Nothing lingered here, nothing more than the awful memories that he could call back whenever he wanted to. Asher had died in an area that was similar, and now Adeline’s death had further made it an insufferable place for him to be in. Copper knew he’d be content if he never saw another boulder again.

He couldn’t seem to stop crying, but he wasn’t trying to hold in the tears anymore. Every so often, he would enter the robotic trance and the tears would subside. After a time, however, he would remember the all-too vivid memories of Adeline’s death, and this was enough to send him into another spell of sobbing. 

Copper hadn’t realized how much he had grown used to Adeline’s presence. Her absence was like a gaping hole that had been punched through his chest. It felt so strange, so unnatural to be travelling along the side of the chasm completely and utterly alone.

 _Alone,_ the survivalist repeated with grim satisfaction.

Copper kept trudging forward despite the pain. Hours seemed to pass. 

_Crunch._

How much time had actually passed, he didn’t know. Copper’s head jerked up, scanning the tree line for the source of the noise. 

At precisely that moment, a figure stepped out from behind a tree. The sun had just sunk below the horizon, spreading a cool, blue light onto everything.

The redhead was flooded with a dizzying array of emotions. The first was surprise; he hadn’t expected to see another person for a while. His eyes focused on them.

Copper viciously suppressed the urge to run. The second emotion, if you would call it that, was fear as he recognized them. This face wasn’t one that he wanted to see.

“Leif!” he said, his voice high-pitched and panicky. 

The District 7 tribute stopped a few yards away, cocking his head to the side. His face was unreadable, and a hatchet was clutched in his right hand.

“Inferno-Boy,” he said in a monotone voice. “I’m surprised to see you alone.”

Copper took one step backward, trying to not be obvious. “Oh, why is that?” 

“I know your district partner died. But I assumed she was killed by Cyan, and that you were with him. Aren’t you...sort of a pet of his?”

 _Died._ It was weird to hear someone else speak of Adeline's death. The boy's nonchalant words only made her passing all the more real.

Copper was shocked. “Oh, no,” he laughed superficially. “Adeline and I separated a while ago. I’m not sure what happened to her. Cyan wouldn’t have killed her.”

Suddenly, an idea came to him. Copper wasn’t sure why his brain had turned on self-preservation mode, but the beating of his heart told him that he did not want to die, no matter how much grief he was in.

“But,” Copper began. “I am with Cyan now. He’s a little ways back, looking for food.” His voice was too high. 

“Hmm,” Leif said, not taking his eyes off Copper. He took a step forward. 

“He should be here any minute,” Copper continued, trying to make his voice light and relaxed. “We were looking for rabbits. I was really in the mood for one, and we thought there were some around here from when we passed by earlier.” He was beginning to babble. 

_Shut up!_ the survivalist yelled.

“You know what?” Leif said, a horrible grin emerging on his face. The boy’s dark yellow teeth were filled with gaps. He looked terrifying. “I don’t think Cyan is here. I think you’re all alone.” He took another step forward. 

Copper followed his movement, taking a step back once again. His foot almost fell through nothingness, and he gasped as he realized he was at the edge of the cliff. 

Looking down, Copper noticed how inviting the darkness of the chasm appeared. He looked back up, only to see that Leif was much, much closer.

The boy raised his hatchet.

 _You’re going to die,_ the survivalist said.

Maybe he was going to die. But not at the hands of Leif. He wasn’t going to end up like Juniper, blood gushing down his face. He wasn’t giving Lief that satisfaction. He wasn’t giving in to that pain. 

He knew what he had to do. It was the only option. There was no time to think. The sound of Leif’s hatchet rippling through the air only solidified his choice. 

Copper flung himself off the cliff’s edge. 

He screamed as he fell through the air like a meteor, thinking briefly of the clichés. But Copper’s life didn’t flash before his eyes. All he saw was Adeline. 

The drop was agonizingly long. Harsh, cold wind blew relentlessly against Copper’s face. Would he feel the impact? Or would he die immediately? 

A damp, petrichor smell flooded his nostrils before he plunged into icy, dark water. Copper’s breath caught in his throat; he was aware of jagged rocks around him, but somehow, he had pierced straight into the murky, deep depths. Pike hadn’t been as lucky. 

It was glacial, colder than anything he’d ever felt. There was no brightness to guide Copper upward, or to show him what direction was what. 

He fought to keep his breath in, to keep his last store of oxygen locked in his lungs. He half-heartedly began to pump his arms and legs, instinct being his only guide. 

_Keep swimming!_ the survivalist urged. 

_Where?_ Copper challenged. There was nothing but darkness every which way. 

_Stop, Copper! Don’t give up!_

The cold of the water numbed his entire body, almost paralyzing him. Why even try to swim?

...But he listened. Engulfed by dizziness, Copper feebly moved his exhausted limbs. 

However, almost as soon as he had started, he stopped. Copper sank further into the hazy water, becoming aware that he felt nothing at all anymore. 

_Fight, Copper!_

It wasn’t the cold of the water, the shock, or the absence of Adeline that made Copper content to stay where he was. 

He didn’t want to fight anymore. In fact, Copper was almost happy it was over. This was an easier death than the others he had witnessed. 

His ears filled with freezing water, but _his_ voice was clearer than ever.

 _It’s okay, Copper,_ Asher said. 

He descended deeper into the water, his mind growing foggier by the second. It didn’t hurt. Dying. 

Surely his family wouldn’t blame him? He had been through enough already. They had to know that by now. Cerritulus would be proud of him. Finally, Copper would be going somewhere else. Somewhere free of poverty and suffering. A place without blood and violence and freezing water. A place without despair. Soon, he’d see Adeline and Asher and maybe even the others who the Capitol had killed. 

But he was leaving his parents behind. He wouldn’t see them again, at least for a long, long time. 

He was leaving _Cyan_ behind. Copper didn’t know why he thought of the boy at that moment, but something in his chest stirred. A longing to not die, at least not yet. But the thought was quickly replaced by one of Adeline. He wanted to be with her, away from this world. Cyan didn’t care about him, not the way Adeline did. 

Adeline. As if on command, the girl's ghostly form appeared in the water beside him.

His subconscious had stored Adeline away in flawless detail, from her ashy blonde hair to her crooked, bright teeth, saving her for this final moment. He knew he was seeing things, but Copper wasn’t afraid. The hallucination flickered like a hologram. 

_Goodbye,_ was his last thought. 

.

.

.

_Looking up from underneath_

_Fractured moonlight on the sea_

_Reflections still look the same to me_

_As before I went under_

_And it's peaceful in the deep_

_'Cause either way you cannot breathe_

_No need to pray, no need to speak_

_Now I am under_

_\- Never Let Me Go_ , Florence & The Machine

_**Author's Note: No, this story isn't over. In fact, it's only about halfway done.** **However, I am really busy, and it takes a lot to write. Updates might become less frequent, but comments definitely keep me motivated to get chapters done more quickly! Also, yes, this chapter was based off of a chapter of another extremely popular novel. I wonder if you can guess it?**_

_**\- Nick** _


	22. Fractured

At that moment, Copper’s head broke the surface.

_What? But I was sure I was sinking…_

He had swallowed quite a bit of water, and his lungs were burning with pain. The boy still couldn’t see anything but the dark, murky blackness that had threatened to swallow him up. 

“Breathe!” a voice commanded. Copper didn’t recognize it. 

It was a difficult order to follow. He coughed up water, gasping for breath as a warm hand touched his forehead. 

“Are you okay?” the voice came again, its tone sharp but concerned at the same time. 

The contents of Copper’s head whirled sickeningly. He realized that he was still, and no longer plummeting further into the murky depths of water...into the waiting hands of death. The surface below him felt smooth and cold beneath his clammy skin. 

“He’s breathing,” the voice called.

Copper opened his eyes. Everything around him was blurry, and it took several moments to focus on his surroundings. The fuzzy frame of a person was bent over him. 

“Hello?” he croaked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Volant,” the voice replied. Copper’s vision began to clear a little more, bringing the warm-haired girl into focus. Her tan skin seemed to glow in the moonlight from above. Or was it because of the small fire nearby? Copper couldn’t tell. He felt sick.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked immediately, not wasting time on the question. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be quick.

“No,” Volant said softly. “ _Are you okay?”_

Copper realized he hadn’t answered her the first time. “I guess.”

“What happened to the girl from your district?”

Copper’s stomach lurched, and it wasn’t from all the water he had swallowed. Being interrogated after nearly dying was not a fun process. “Don’t make me talk about that,” he rasped, scarcely able to sit up. 

A girl with mousy brown hair emerged from behind Volant. It was Pascal, the District 3 girl. 

“He could be our ally, too,” she said to Volant, her eyes flickering from Copper’s saturated body to the girl beside her. “I know he doesn’t want to kill us. His name is Copper, the Inferno-Boy.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want him slowing us down,” Volant said in reply. She then spoke directly to him. But her voice was full of sympathy. “Is there anything you can...do?”

Copper now sat up, slightly worried that she would kill him if he told her the truth, that no, he had zero skills. 

“Um,” he began, awkwardly ringing his shirt out. The heat of the fire was his saving grace at the moment. “I mean, I attacked a mutt, and made it get away from...from my district partner. I also k-killed a girl on the second day. District 10. She was trying to hurt us.”

Volant narrowed her eyes. “Really? You killed someone?”

Copper looked away. “Somehow. I don’t want to talk about it. If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

Volant laughed. “We aren’t going to kill you. Do you want to stick with us, at least for the time being? There’s strength in numbers, after all. Plus, I don’t see you making it very far on your own right now. I just had to drag you out of the water.”

Copper was confused as to why this strong, stable District 6 tribute had plunged into freezing water to save him, and was now offering him an alliance. It seemed extremely illogical that she had allied herself with possibly the second weakest tribute in the entire Games, Pascal of District 3, let alone with him. 

_There’s strength in numbers._

Perhaps she was right. Even if he and Pascal were weak, they were _something._ They were more powerful together, however little that power might actually be. 

“Okay,” he said, still shaking off the uncertain feelings he had toward Volant’s offer. The girl seemed to notice his bewilderment. 

“My district partner, Axle, was someone who I couldn’t save...who I _didn’t_ save,” she began. “And I regret it. A lot. I’m not the type of person who just abandons others. I abandoned him, and I want to make things right, and this is the only way I know how to.”

Copper understood her words more than the girl probably knew. “I feel guilty about my district partner’s death, too. But you can’t blame yourself. This is the Hunger Games, and we didn’t ask for this. None of this is your fault.”

But he understood her actions anyway. The whole “owing” thing. He always felt like he owed everyone who ever did a single nice thing for him. He felt like the owing would never cease, and that he would be repaying every single person forever. His actions were never enough, and the guilt that followed seemed to swallow him up. Copper couldn’t think that way, though, at least not anymore. Adeline’s dying words had stuck with him. 

_You’ve done enough for me. More than enough,_ she had said. 

Maybe he was enough. In a way, it was enough _to not be enough_. It didn’t matter whether Copper was or wasn’t, though. The future would come anyway. 

“What have you got with you?” Volant asked, choosing to ignore his consoling words. 

“I have my dart gun, and the soggy remnants of bread.”

“Ew,” Pascal laughed, turning away from him to warm herself by the fire. “Come over here, Copper.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The flickering of the flames was practically a magnet for him. He had always felt drawn to warmth, whether it was fire, or sunlight, or anything of the like. Now, being drenched, the heat seemed to call to him even more. 

“Volant’s been catching fish with her spear,” she said, motioning to several large catfish cooking over the fire. “How did you get so good with one of those, Vol?”

Volant shrugged, shuffling over to join them. Copper realized that she was soaked as well. _Duh._ He felt instantly guilty that he was the reason she had gotten wet. But it had been her choice to save him, he supposed.

“I’m not sure. I practiced with it a bit in the Training Center, but I’ve always been good with precision. It’s something that I relied on a lot for my job back in District 6.”

Copper didn’t ask what kind of work the girl had been involved with. Instead, he stared at the spear she had situated in between her knees. It was silvery and heavy-looking. The end was so sharp, he knew that if he had owned it, he would have cut himself on it by accident. 

“Want some fish, Copper?” Pascal asked. 

He was surprised at how inviting the girl was. She really did seem to care about his comfort. Copper could detect no malevolent facade present within her. He felt as if the gaping hole left by Adeline had shrunk, even if only by a centimeter. 

“Okay.”

Copper had never actually eaten fish before, but then, in the darkness, it was the best thing he had ever tasted. It was possible that the fact that he was starving had swayed his taste buds into believing that this was the best meal ever.

It was silent for a while. Now with his belly full, Copper took the opportunity to actually look around. They were in some sort of cavern.

“How did you guys get here?” he asked. 

Pascal smiled. “I found the entrance beneath some boulders, but was too scared to explore it on my own. A little while later, Volant found me. I thought she was going to kill me, but,” she shrugged, smiling meekly. “Here we are.” 

“We decided to explore it together,” Volant said. “I thought that it would be a good place to hide, at least for a while. I’m trying to keep my distance from the more dangerous tributes. One of them killed my district partner about twenty seconds into the Games. The girl from 2. She’s vicious.”

Copper hadn’t thought about Selene in a while. Victoree and Cyan appeared to be bigger threats to him, at least right now. After all, the District 1 girl had promised death to him multiple times at this point, both outside and inside the arena. 

Knowing that Selene was Volant’s primary concern unsettled him. He knew that she was dangerous, but her presence had definitely been overshadowed by the District 1 duo in his mind.

“Who is even left at this point?” he asked.

Pascal immediately answered. “Victoree, Cyan, Flint, Selene, myself, Quay, Volant, Leif, and you,” she said, giggling as she saw Volant and Copper stare at her. “What? It isn’t hard to remember everyone’s name, especially with such little tributes remaining.”

Volant shrugged. “I guess you’re more observant than me. I don’t like giving names to people who are trying to kill me, though. Anyway...I wonder when they’re going to start the interviews with our families.”

It took Copper a moment to understand what she meant. _Oh! The interviews back in the districts!_

He had forgotten that the families of the final 8 tributes in the Hunger Games each year were interviewed. It had been so long since a District 12 tribute had made it this far that the concept was completely foreign to him. Only one more person had to die before that would happen. Perhaps it would be him, and his family wouldn’t have to take part in the tradition. He couldn’t imagine that Steel, Beatrice, or either of his parents would be very keen on the attention. 

“It’s when there are only 8 of us left,” Pascal said, mimicking Copper’s previous thought. “I think Caesar Flickerman conducts them.”

.

.

.

Leif stared down the chasm, his hair billowing in the frigid night’s breeze. He had lost one of his beloved hatchets because of the stupid District 12 boy. Who could have thought the weakling would just jump off the cliff? It was suicidal. 

And yet, the cannon didn’t fire.

 _That_ is what annoyed Leif to no end. Accepting the fact that he no longer possessed one of his weapons may have been easier to come to terms with if the freak had just died. But no, by some unfathomable miracle, he was still alive.

The District 7 tribute supposed that water was what waited at the bottom of the chasm. The drop was much, much too far to investigate his theory, though. It had to be at least two hundred feet. The redhead’s screams seemed to last for ages until they dissipated into nothingness. 

Leif scratched the end of his remaining hatchet, a flake of dried blood chipping off. 

Juniper’s blood, to be exact. 

He felt no guilt about the girl’s demise. District 7 probably hated him now, but it wasn’t like Leif had gone out of his way to kill her. She just _happened_ to be in perfect range when he had secured the hatchet. Anyway, this was the Hunger Games. There could only be one winner. Juniper stood in the way of victory for him. Districts weren’t teams, not in this brutal competition. Sure, the Career districts banded together for a while, but even they would turn against each other. The fact that everyone was pitted against everyone, regardless of origin, was something that Leif thought that many people seemed to forget about. 

There were a lot of things that the Capitol used the Hunger Games for to make them forget about, but also remember. It was the perfect mode of control for stupid people. In retrospect, Leif now hoped that since he had been broadcasted on national television killing a girl he pretty much knew, the districts might finally realize that _no one_ can truly win the Games. Maybe they would become sensible and finally revolt. 

He doubted it, though.

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Cyan zipped his sleeping bag up as slowly as possible, desperate to not make any noise. It was the dead of night, and this might just work.

He couldn’t stand being here anymore, with _them_. It felt so wrong, even if he also was a Career tribute. Cyan couldn’t explain why his heart and mind were changing so rapidly, but they were. To be honest, it was something that had been happening for a while, but the tall District 1 boy became good at suppressing it. Suddenly, though, his feelings exponentionally turned, and being in the Games was no longer something that he wanted. If he could go back in time, perhaps he would never have volunteered. But…

An image of Copper flashed through his mind.

Maybe he still would have volunteered. But with different intentions. That much was clear. 

As he carefully walked past the extinguished campfire, a rustling noise behind him made Cyan’s heart drop. 

“What are you doing?” a voice whispered. It was Quay.

Cyan put a finger to his lips. “Keep it down, would you? You’ll wake everyone else up.”

The girl rose from her sleeping bag, making her way over to him silently. 

“You aren’t just going to leave us, are you?” she asked, her sea-green eyes dark with worry. “You aren’t going to leave _me_?”

Cyan stared at her. Quay wasn’t that bad. Not like the others. Victoree _did_ kill her district partner. Had that impacted her? Surely, it had. Why else would she seem so afraid of him leaving? 

He didn’t know what to do. His full intention had been to sneak off without anyone knowing, but clearly that was now impossible. Cyan wasn’t sure what made him say what he did next. Perhaps it was pity. Either way, whatever emotion it was, Careers were not supposed to have it.

“Come with me, then.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Either come, or don’t. I’m not going to waste all night. I need to get out of here.”

Quay nodded. She looked nervous, but relieved at the same time. The girl stealthily retreated to her bag, zipping it up with lightning speed. Cyan winced at the noise, praying nobody would awaken.

Nobody did. 

In the next moment, she was back at his side, her golden trident grasped tightly in her small hands. Cyan was just realizing now how short she was, despite her clear competence in the art of killing.

Art. He had to stop calling it that. Quay was just a child, after all. Careers usually weren’t viewed in that way, so it was a strange angle to now see the girl from.

She nodded at him, and the two slipped off into the night, fracturing the Career pack in two.


	23. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Okay, so, um...my university closed until APRIL due to coronavirus. So I will be at home, making no money, doing my schoolwork online. Honestly, this is sort of apocalyptic. I’m nervous for the world. I think I might be too much like Copper sometimes. Anyway, here is the next chapter. It isn’t super long, and I’m sorry. But it’s all I have for now.  
> \- Nick 

**Selene** was a Titan goddess in Greek mythology, daughter of the Titans Hyperion and Theia. She had two siblings, Helios and Eos. She was the goddess of the moon, which she drove every night across the skies. Selene was linked to Artemis as well as Hecate; all three were considered lunar goddesses.

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Pain exploded within Adeline, incapacitating her completely. The claws from the muttation had mutilated her body. Agony erupted from her arm, from her chest, and especially from her leg. The world was made of pain. 

_Copper?_ she said, or maybe thought. Adeline wasn’t sure if she was speaking or not.

.

.

.

The pain seemed to be subsiding a bit. Could it be because she was drifting off to sleep? It was so bright and sunny. The cold of the arena had vanished completely, replaced by a dry, serene heat. Adeline no longer felt hungry, and her mind was not on edge. She felt at peace.

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“Adeline.” The voice was deep but airy. It was a strange combination, but the uniqueness behind it lead the fallen District 12 tribute to know it could only be one person. Asher. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and the blurry outline of Asher came into focus. His tall, thin frame stood before her, preserved forever at age 14. His hair was a luminous blonde, much different from the ashy, greyish tone that Adeline had remembered it to be. He looked...different. It was clearly him, but there was something angelic about the boy’s appearance. His skin looked like the porcelain of a china doll’s. 

Adeline became aware that they were in a field. It was warm and cozy, despite the fact that they were outdoors. Everything appeared to be so _soft._ In the arena, the world around her was stunningly clear and contrasted. Perhaps the adrenaline Adeline had constantly felt was responsible for that. But here, her gaze was caressed by a gentle, fuzzy feeling. It didn’t hurt to take details in. It wasn’t exhausting. Not anymore. 

“Asher?” she asked, though she already knew it was him who stood before her. 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“But I failed,” she said, the reality of what had happened crashing down upon her. She was dead, and everything was okay now. But it also wasn’t. Copper was still in the arena. He was still in _pain_. “Copper is still in there. Will he be okay?”

Asher looked away. “Yes, he will be okay.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

He looked back at her. “Were _you_ okay in the arena? I wasn’t, not when _she_ took my life away.” His tone had shifted, it wasn’t gentle. “But,” he continued, “Copper will be okay in the end. Although I can’t see the future. I don’t know when he will be joining us. Anyway, I want him to live a full life. Not the half-life that tore us away from our families.”

Adeline agreed, but she wasn’t sure that Copper would ever be able to live a fulfilling life now. The Hunger Games ruined everyone, and if, by some miracle, a victor escaped relatively unscathed, the aftermath would destroy them. The prostitution. The drugs. Adeline didn’t know how she knew this, because she certainly hadn’t before.

“What do I do now?” she said instead, looking around. The field was vast, with a tree littered every few hundred yards. She could see trees in the distance, but they were too far away to venture over to at the moment. Adeline realized that she had no desire to really do much at all. She was content with where she was. 

“We can meet up with the others,” Asher replied, sticking his hand out to her. Adeline took it, and felt herself being lifted off the ground. Her torn arena jacket was gone, replaced by a dress that fit her perfectly. It wasn’t like that thin, ghastly floral dress that she wore to the Reaping. How disgusting it was that the Capitol could watch her climb the stairs to the Justice Building, with clothes that didn’t even fit, looking innocent and afraid, only to die a horrific death days later. 

“Who are the others?” she asked, looking over Asher’s shoulder. In the distance, she could make out the outline of a girl. 

Asher turned around, following Adeline’s gaze. “Cinder,” he said. “She was my district partner.”

Adeline suddenly remembered the girl. Her skeletal frame had been even more emaciated than Asher’s, but her dark hair was sleek and vibrant, even back then. Now, she appeared to be healthier. Happier.

Cinder waved at them.

“Come,” Asher said, taking Adeline’s hand.

“Wait. Who is that?”

A girl had appeared in the opposite direction. She was beautiful, Adeline could tell that much. But she was too far away for Adeline to get a good look. She seemed to be separated from them by some sort of...mist. No, that wasn’t right. It was a veil of some kind, flickering blue and green, almost like an aurora. 

“It’s the District 2 girl,” Asher said simply. “I’ve been watching you all from here. I remember her. Selene.”

Bile would’ve risen in Adeline’s throat if she was even capable of vomiting here. “ _Her?_ ” she spat. “Why is she here? She is — _was_ a Career! She’s evil.”

Asher shook his head. “No,” he said patiently, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “She isn’t evil. Evil people aren’t welcome here. The District 1 boy from my Hunger Games never showed up here. I’ve never seen either of the tributes from District 4 either. Some of them just don’t end up in the Field. But if Selene is here, then she deserves to be. I think she is separated from us, at least for a while.” He motioned to the veil. 

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Copper jerked awake as the cannon fired. He lurched upward, adrenaline flooding through his veins for what felt like the millionth time. Pascal and Volant did the same, which made him feel better. Nobody had invaded their camp to ambush them. 

The sky illuminated immediately, much to Copper’s surprise. Selene’s flawless grin shimmered amongst the fake stars. 

“Who could’ve killed her?” Pascal whispered, her eyes wide. “Leif, maybe?”

“Yes,” Copper said instinctively, causing the pair to look at him with intense gazes. “He killed his district partner. He nearly killed me, too. That’s why I jumped off the cliff. Him and his hatchets are very dangerous.”

“Hm.” Volant traced figure eights on the ground. “So he killed her, and then what? The cannon hasn’t fired again. Wouldn’t the rest of the Career pack end him?”

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Victoree fired arrow after arrow in the dark, but none of them were landing. _Fuck!_

Selene’s bloodied corpse was crumpled on the ground nearby, a deep gash on her back pulsing red. 

Flint was waving his sword around wildly, and Victoree heard the clash of metal on metal. It was the District 7 boy who invaded their camp. Where were Cyan and Quay? They were supposed to be the first watchers that night. Rage boiled within Victoree, causing the girl to cry out. 

“Fuck you, Cyan!” she screamed as Flint made his way back to her. The cannon hadn’t fired a second time, much to her disappointment.

“He’s gone,” the District 2 boy said breathlessly, sweat beading around his temples. 

“Cyan is fucking _dead,_ ” Victoree snarled, kicking a nearby tree. “Him and that stupid District 4 girl. She’s the weakest of us all. He’ll regret betraying us.”

It was cold outside, and Victoree didn’t like it. Back in District 1, they were never cold. It was never cold at the academy where she trained every single day, working her ass off just so she could come here and be miserable. But it would be worth it. All this bullshit would be worth it in the end. She’d be the victor of the 42nd Hunger Games. There were only 8 of them left. 

_Only 7 more weaklings to get through...and only 3 more Careers. Ha! As if Quay is even a real Career. Make that 2._

The hovercraft drifted silently towards them, its claw slithering out like a snake to pick up Selene’s dead body. Victoree didn’t care; Selene was useless anyway. Being pretty didn’t win the Hunger Games. If Flint was affected by Selene’s death, he was doing a great job at hiding it. The boy tore open a package of beef strips and began chewing obnoxiously.

“We’re killing Cyan next,” Victoree said, not even glancing up as the hovercraft disappeared. “I don’t care about the District 7 boy. He was too cowardly to even fight us while awake. I know I’d have taken him down easily otherwise. But we’ll get him after Cyan and Quay are finally gone. I think we’ll just let nature take care of Inferno-Fag, but part of me hopes he’s still alive after we’re finished with everyone else. I’d love to see the expression on his face when we find him.”

Flint was staring at Victoree’s chest, clearly not hearing a single word of her morbid soliloquy. 

The girl noticed. _Ugh, boys. They only think about one thing, and one thing only. Eh, whatever._

“Get over here.”

**_Author’s Note: Okay, barf._ **

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“She underestimates you,” Cyan said simply, turning the rabbit rhythmically over the glowing fire. Selene’s face had shown in the sky only moments ago. It was scary how fast the Career pack had fallen apart after he and Quay had left. If they had stayed, would there be more faces in the sky that night? 

Quay inhaled sharply. “Everyone does. I got a good training score, but looks can be deceiving. I guess I don’t look very threatening, and my height definitely doesn’t help. But Victoree saw me tearing dummies apart in the Training Center with that sword. She saw me in the bloodbath.”

Cyan shrugged. “Well, her opinion doesn’t matter.” He was confused as to why Quay seemed to care so much about what Victoree thought of her. It was another strange thought for a Career to have. He was secretly glad that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t seem to fit the archetype super well. 

“I can’t win this, Cyan.”

He froze. While Quay didn’t seem to be the typical Career tribute, a statement like that was almost damning. 

“What? You’re a Career. You have a better chance at this than almost anyone else. There are only 8 of us left.”

“Yeah, and Victoree is one of them. And _you_ are one of them. That District 3 girl? Okay, she’s nothing. The District 12 boy is nothing. But I’m not strong enough to take down Victoree.”

Cyan truly didn’t know what to say. First, he was slightly irritated at Quay for referring to Copper as “nothing.” It was so uncomfortable talking about the future in the Hunger Games, even if it was the very near future. Only one person could win this, so every conversation about surviving was depressing because both of them knew that at least one of them would die. 

As weird as it was, the Hunger Games hadn’t seemed real until they had set foot in the arena. In the Career districts, the Games were seen as something exciting and honorable. The atmospheres of 1, 2, and 4 portrayed the Games as something extravagant and fun. It was only natural that everyone would want to volunteer.

But now...the harsh truth had finally set in. Cyan could see the Games from the perspective of the other districts at last. How stupid he was! Didn’t he find it bizarre how kids in the other districts cried when they got picked? How other children cringed away from the unlucky ones who were reaped? 

His mindset had always been that the upper districts were weak and boring. But it was obvious that they were poor. They could barely afford food, let alone a special training academy to prepare for the Hunger Games. He remembered watching Copper shakily walking up to the Justice Building, his shorts quite obviously cutoffs. Victoree had made a snide comment about his attire, probably to deflect the fact that he was being praised for his hair. But Copper hadn’t chosen to look like that. He was forced to dress that way because there was no other option for him. 

Nobody could choose where they were born, he realized. Perhaps it was common sense to almost anyone else, but the sheer egocentricity of living in District 1 had engulfed Cyan for his entire life. Why it was finally lifting now, he didn’t know. This wasn’t convenient. He found himself feeling sorry for kids he had scarcely met. This wasn’t a time to feel sorry. This was the Hunger Games, a time when feeling anything at all was a threat to survival.

That’s why Copper was so...magical. He did feel things. That was obvious. His reaping, interview, and the few conversations that Cyan had had with the District 12 boy definitely proved that. 

A sense of dread began to grow within Cyan. There wasn’t going to be a happy ending to all of this. He knew all of the possible outcomes. After all, he had played out the scenario of being in the Games hundreds of times over the years. What a tragedy it was that he had never realized that there was no happy ending, even after countless times dreaming about different arenas and strategies. Either he would win, and leave someone innocent to die, or he would die himself. Copper didn’t deserve to die, and Cyan knew that. After living in a level of poverty that was beyond what Cyan could even comprehend, Copper could _not_ die. What a horrible life that would be. Copper deserved the world. He deserved to live forever, with proper clothes and enough food and whatever he wanted. 

But even then, it would still never be enough. Nothing could take away the trauma, the poverty, the violence, and the evilness that had plagued Copper’s life. Some scars would never fade.

It was so _unfair._ Here Cyan was, an ungrateful brute who had volunteered for the Games, thinking about a poor, nervous boy who had cried when he was chosen for the same thing. It was so drastically different and unequal. There was no justice in this situation.


	24. Jaded

Livia rubbed her temples tiredly, glancing briefly up at Cerritulus. The man didn’t seem very lively either. What was he thinking?

The screens flickered in their dimly-lit room that the two had spent so much of the last week in. Copper’s screen was constantly up, naturally. He seemed to have made an alliance with the girls from 6 and 3, which Livia hardly viewed as a bad thing. Two-thirds of this year’s contestants were gone. Copper actually stood a chance now. Maybe not the best chance, but a drastically higher one than before. 

All the while, Cerritulus was beginning to think that he was growing too old for this job. It had drained him...District 12 was going to need a new escort soon, because he felt like he couldn’t do it anymore. This year, in particular, had taken a lot out of him. Perhaps it was because he was used to his tributes dying so quickly. The anxiety was only prolonged for as long as Copper remained alive. Of course he wanted the boy to return to him, but this desire seemed like nothing more than a superficial dream. It wasn’t because Cerritulus was a pessimistic person, either. He was jaded.

He thought back to his first year as an escort. The previous escort had mentored the tributes alongside Cerritulus, teaching him the ropes before he moved on to bigger and better things, whatever that could be. 

It was the 34th Hunger Games. Cerritulus had called the name of a thin blonde girl with a spray of freckles dotting her nose. Dottie Donner. 

_What a generic name,_ he had thought. _Their names are so old and traditional here in 12. I don’t get it. District 12 is frozen in time._

As he watched, a tear clung to Dottie’s eyelashes as she made her way to the stage, a pin resembling a mockingjay attached to her loose white blouse.

“Why did you call her?” the old escort had asked later on, clearly puzzled by the girl’s reaping. “It’s quite obvious she’s from town. I don’t think her family has done anything wrong.”

Cerritulus was confused. “Because her name was on the paper?”

While Cerritulus was nervous that year, he admittedly did not harbor any initial feelings of discomfort or disdain for his new job. That is, until the Games began.

The arena was a muddy mess, and the initial skirmish was difficult to watch. The boy tribute from District 12 raced forward, slipping and sliding every which way. Cerritulus watched in horror as the boy from District 4 made his way effortlessly to him, slamming him to the ground and holding his head down into the mud until he was still. 

“Get up! Get up!” Cerritulus screamed, shaking the screen as he stared at the boy’s unmoving body. 

The District 12 boy was not the only one down, either. It appeared that District 6 and District 9 already had losses as well. The Games had only just started.

“He’s gone,” his escort-mentor said. “That’s what happens. You pick them, and they die. You better get used to it.”

_You pick them, and they die._

Cerritulus was jarred by the man’s words. He didn’t seem to sport any sort of fondness for the Hunger Games, something very atypical in a Capitol citizen. Had being a mentor and escort really worn him down this much?

Cerritulus switched his table screen to Dottie’s, ridding himself of the sight of the District 12 boy’s unmoving corpse. The girl had jumped backward off her platform and scampered away from the Cornucopia, following their orders that her district partner chose to ignore. She wore what appeared to be a skin-tight, water resistant body suit. Its nominal protection clearly wasn't doing much, as Dottie was already soaked and shivering.

Cerritulus briefly switched back to the boy’s screen. He was still down. 

He shook the screen once more.

“He’s GONE!” The escort mentor yelled, his breath wreacking of liquor. “I told you. This is what the Games are. This is what happens every year.”

Cerritulus shook his head. “But it’s only the beginning…”

“Not for him. Anyway, we still have to watch the girl. Concentrate on her.”

By the time the cannons began to fire after the bloodbath, Cerritulus had secured enough money to get Dottie some water-purifying tablets and a flimsy bottle. He was instructed to now begin working on finding a waterproof sleeping bag for the girl. 

And, despite his competence at it all, Cerritulus still found himself sweaty and shaking. The District 12 boy’s screen was now dark. The hovercraft had probably picked him up by now.

He switched the table screen to Glister Braun’s, the District 1 boy. The Career pack was muddy too, and they seemed to be arguing. It was evident that the District 1 girl didn’t make it. 

“What _is_ this?” Glister asked, annoyed with the mud on his boots. 

“It’s a swamp,” the District 4 boy said. “Spread your weight out as far as you can, or else it’s easier to sink. Watch out for gators, too.”

“Watch out for _what_?” the District 2 girl asked, clearly just as annoyed as Glister. 

“The thing that killed _his_ district partner,” the District 4 boy said, motioning to Glister with his sword. “We have gators down by the coast in District 4, but they’re not as big as these ones.”

In the next moment, Glister said something else that Cerritulus didn’t catch. In response, the District 2 boy lunged at him aggressively, but Glister kicked him with moderate force, rebutting the attack relatively easily. 

“Let’s not go all out yet,” Glister said, shooting daggers with his eyes at the District 2 boy. “We can work out this stuff at the _end,_ when all the weaklings are gone.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” the District 2 girl whispered to her district partner, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. She then spoke to the group. “We’re all friends from training, right?”

That was bullshit, and Cerritulus knew it. They all said similar things every year, but none of it was true. It was obvious that the kids hated each other. They all just wanted to win. 

The District 4 girl spoke next. “Sure, until the end. Then I don’t care. I’m going back to my mother, and-”

The coverage cut abruptly away from her, instead focusing on the District 8 boy crouching on a log in the forest. Whatever the District 4 girl had been saying, the Gamemakers had decided it wasn’t for public consumption. 

The main screen now showed Dottie, although the footage was cutting between her and the girl from District 7. Cerritulus realized that they were having a conversation. Dottie was on her log, looking extremely fragile and out of place in the dark swamp. The District 7 girl had found her own log to stand on, and she looked much stronger than Dottie. 

“Come on, I have no quarrel with you,” Dottie said, her white-blonde hair sprayed with mud. She appeared to be attempting to compromise with the girl. How had Cerritulus missed this? “You let me go, and I’ll let you go. Easy.”

The girl from District 7 snorted. “Yeah, okay. I don’t care. I’m prepared to deal with whatever. This sort of place is typical where I’m from. Have you got much of this up in the coal mines?”

Dottie laughed, the childish sound breaking Cerritulus’ heart. She shouldn’t be there. “No, I’m a baker at a sweet shop! Do you want to be allies?”

That brought the District 7 girl to laugh as well. Whether it was because of Dottie’s disclosure of being a baker, or her random offer for an alliance, Cerritulus was unsure. The District 7 girl’s intimidating facade appeared to be diminishing rapidly. Dottie may not have been skilled with weapons or much of anything related to survival, but she was charming. Some may have seen her obedience as a lack of confidence, but following orders had saved her life, while disobeying them had cost her district partner his. 

Unexpectedly, the surface of the water erupted between them, and a gigantic alligator emerged, tossing both girls off their logs. 

Cerritulus watched, his heart beating rapidly, as the girls worked together to take it down. Dottie jumped on its back, an act of bravery he didn’t think the girl was capable of. He watched in disgust as she gouged its eyes out with a stick, screaming and crying as she did so. 

Meanwhile, the District 7 girl was waist-deep in the water, but forced her pointed stick against the beast’s throat. Blood rained down onto her, and the creature sunk into the depths, either stunned or dead. 

“You said something about being allies?” the District 7 girl said. 

Dottie laughed once more. 

Cerritulus turned to his mentor. “I thought for sure that she was going to try to kill Dottie.”

The other man shrugged. “Eh, they’re both scared to death. They both ran away from the bloodbath. They’re not idiots, and even idiots know that two is often better than one in a game like this.”

The next day or so was rather uneventful. Dottie and the District 7 girl caught a lizard and ate it raw. Cerritulus had been trying to secure a sponsor gift for them, but his wealthiest client wanted to wait to see if Dottie would make it farther. 

“She’s clever,” the woman said, looking up at the screen at Dottie, a mixture of hope and happiness upon her face. “I hate when the smart, sweet ones die. I’ll send a generous gift if she makes it closer to the end, but for now, I can’t see the point in it.”

Cerritulus was annoyed with the woman, but he understood her reasoning. 

Blight, a past victor from District 7, and the Capitol mentor were talking as Cerritulus entered back into the room, but he didn’t listen to what they were saying. He supposed that working with Blight would be the norm for a while, at least until this alliance between Dottie and the District 7 girl fell apart. 

On screen, Dottie let out a yell. 

Something was rising out of the swamp, and the girls were racing away through the muck, both of them falling as they ran. Then, out of nowhere, the Career alliance was on them. The entire pack ganged up on the girls like hyenas. The fight was merely seconds long. 

The cannons went off.

Blight, the Capitol escort, and Cerritulus stared at the sudden darkness on their table screens. Just moments ago, they were talking about getting the girls some proper shelter. 

Cerritulus couldn’t seem to breathe properly. He had been so sure that Dottie stood a chance. The truth was difficult to accept. 

_I told you. This is what the Games are. This is what happens every year._

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“What’s wrong?” Livia asked, a look of concern dawning on her highly altered face. 

“Nothing,” Cerritulus said, his voice coming out in a dead wheeze. “I was just thinking about all the years I’ve done this. It hasn’t been that long, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve been here an eternity.”

He motioned at Copper’s screen. The screen that had been Dottie’s. The screen that had been Asher’s. The screen that had been Edith’s. Adeline’s screen was beside it, dark with her absence. 

Livia nodded. “It’s hard.”

“Is that all you can say?” Cerritulus said indignantly, standing up to walk out of the room. “Is that really all?” He couldn’t help feeling frustrated. Livia had done a great thing in designing the outfits for his tributes, but just sitting around and acting all hopeless with her hands gripped around a mug of tea was becoming annoying.

He knew he was irritated, and perhaps it wasn’t even with her. The whole situation was just horrendous. 

“I’m sorry, Livia. I’m just frustrated.”

“It’s okay. I get it, trust me. I don’t think I’d be able to do this as long as you have. I’m already feeling exhausted, and this is my first year as a stylist. I can’t even imagine how the kids in the arena are feeling. I feel like a monster for even complaining.”

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_**Author's Note: Let me know if anyone wants the next chapter. Otherwise, I will be putting this story on hold for a while. My readers are important to me; I write for them!** _

_**\- Nick** _


	25. Dwindling

Caesar Flickerman looked different in real life, at least to Beatrice Hurst. He looked just as equally bizarre as Cerritulus Forebode, if not even more so, but his presence amongst the broken-down shacks of District 12 was very off-putting. The man wore orange from head to toe, his hair a brilliant shock of pure red. It wasn’t the bright, auburn-like color that Copper’s hair was, although its attempt at imitating the shade was desperate. 

He unnerved Beatrice. Everyone from the Capitol did, but it was weird seeing someone in the flesh who she only usually saw on television. He had come to interview her and the rest of her family because Copper was still in the Games. Against the odds, her brother was still out there, facing horrors that she herself could never imagine. So, while she was scared to be interviewed, she knew that going through with it was the only option. If Copper could handle the Hunger Games, she could handle being asked a few questions in front of a camera. 

Outside, the prep team dusted Beatrice’s face with makeup, all whilst talking in their strange, high-pitched accents. The girl tried her best to stay still, to give them no reason to be mad at her. 

Apparently, the interview was to be conducted outside, in order to give it a more “District 12” feel. It was so weird how people thought this way. Just let them ask their questions, and be done. But then again, this was the Hunger Games, and everything was turned into a dramatic play. Everything was blown out of proportion and exploited to the maximum. That’s what the Capitol did. 

The team worked quickly and gently, much to Beatrice’s surprise. They combed out her hair until it was smooth and shiny and helped her into a dress that was far more beautiful than anything she had ever owned. It wasn’t as pretty or extravagant as the outfits that many tributes wore to their interviews in the Capitol, but it was still a sight to behold. All of this must have cost a fortune. 

Beatrice liked feeling pretty, whether she admitted it or not. However, seeing her parents and brother dressed in Capitol attire made her feel uncomfortable. They looked disingenuous, despite the luxurious clothing, like they were imposters posing as important people. She didn’t like how the Capitol distanced itself so much from people like them. They were _all_ people, were they not? Then why did the Capitolites seem so otherworldly, so utterly demented? 

Sitting next to Caesar on the dilapidated steps of the Hurst home, Beatrice began to feel something else. To her surprise, an aura of calmness began to encase her. Sure, she wasn’t worry-free, and her nerve endings may have felt electrified, but she felt like something was coming to an end. Like this would all be over soon. There were only eight tributes left. The resolution was on its way.

Caesar Flickerman spoke. “So, Beatrice Hurst, the number of tributes in the 42nd Hunger Games is dwindling down. But Copper is among the living. Did you ever expect your brother to make it as far as he has?”

Beatrice, who previously had been worried about how she would react to his questions, found herself nodding. "I did," she said honestly.

She stared at Caesar’s face, trying with immense difficulty to block out the cameras, the staring prep team, and the thought of all of Panem watching her. 

"I always did. I knew he could make it," she continued. "He can win, too.”

Caesar smiled. "I think we all are _very_ impressed with Copper’s performance thus far. Now, he’s seventeen-years-old, isn't he?"

Beatrice nodded. “Yeah.”

"I thought so," he replied, clearly trying hard to work with Beatrice’s terseness. "Have you watched much of this year's Games?"

She nodded her head. "Yes. I’ve watched during mandatory viewing and whenever else I can. Copper and I used to talk about this, actually. When he was 13 and I was 18. I always made him promise not to watch the Games if I got picked. He promised me he wouldn't. And I did the same." Her face began to droop, and Beatrice felt a rush of emotions building within her. "I w-wish I'd kept it."

"What happened?" he asked intently.

“I saw the part… the part where…" Her speech was finally crumbling, although Beatrice had made it further into the interview than she had expected. “I saw the part with A-Adeline.”

Caesar Flickerman put his hand on the girl’s leg. "It's all right. You don't have to talk about it. The point is that your brother has been doing extremely well so far.”

The bright lights from the cameras were almost blinding to Beatrice. She felt a tear roll down her powdered face, and she flicked it away instinctively, barely even noticing it. 

“He’s done amazingly,” she said. “Far better than I ever could. We used to talk about more than just what would happen if one of us got picked.”

“Oh?” Caesar inquired. “And what did you talk about?”

“We always said that if we got put into the Games, we wouldn’t turn into killers. Copper and I never believed we could win, but we always said that if we did, it would be by doing the right thing. We promised each other that we would stay out of the way for as long as possible. That’s what he promised my mom, when they t-took him a-away.”

The camera cut to Mrs. Hurst, standing amidst the trees with her husband. The sun was setting, and the atmosphere was beautiful and surreal. 

“I think he has kept his promise,” Caesar said thoughtfully. “His kill count is only one, whereas the District 1 pair have a kill count of seven, combined.”

Beatrice smiled faintly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Caesar noticed. “What are you smiling about?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Caesar, that District 1 boy doesn’t seem so bad. It’s the girl I’m worried about. I can’t see him doing much damage to Copper.”

“Is that so? I’m surprised, Beatrice. I would’ve assumed that you’d dislike anyone against Copper in the Games.”

Beatrice shrugged again. “I wouldn’t say he’s against Copper. I’m sure it could all be an act, but it seems as if he _likes_ Copper. I saw the way he looked at him when the Careers saw him across the chasm. Victoree was shooting arrows, but I knew Adeline would be sensible enough to get to safety. I was looking at Cyan. And _he_ was looking at Copper. I remember him talking about Copper during the tribute interviews, too. What do _you_ think, Caesar?”

Caesar let out a long sigh. “Oh my, as much as I’d absolutely adore to discuss this, we are running out of time, Beatrice Hurst. I can assure you, though, that you are not the only one to hold this opinion. It has been quite the topic in the Capitol as of late. But, I do have one more question I’d like for you to answer.”

“Yes, Caesar?” She finally was feeling comfortable in front of the cameras, but the short interview was coming to a close. Beatrice should’ve felt relieved, but all she wanted was to know more about what people thought of Copper. Did they think he could win, too? Was there something between him and Cyan? Or at least something one-sided on Cyan’s part?

“If you could tell Copper anything right now, what would you say to him?”

The question caught Beatrice off guard. There were a million things she would want to say to Copper...if only she had the chance. “I,” she began, thinking wildly of what on earth she would say to him, if he were back in her arms now. “I would tell him that I’m so proud of him, and that he is so brave. I would say that even though I miss him, I know that he has what it takes to come back to us. So I will see him again.”

Caesar gave her a warm look. “Thank you, Beatrice. It has been wonderful speaking with you.”

“Thank you, Caesar,” she replied, not wiping away the new tears that had begun to form. “It’s been nice talking to you, too.”

The lights dimmed and the cameraman turned to them. “We’re all clear, Caesar.”

Beatrice glanced around. The magical brightness of the interview was gone, dissipated into nothingness. The reality of District 12 had immediately taken its place, the rotted wood feeling realer than ever beneath her bottom. She noticed that they didn’t ask for the dress back. 

_Come on, Copper. You can do this._


	26. Crush

“Do you have any other siblings, Copper?” Pascal asked. “I know you mentioned a brother in your interview. Steel.”

He was taken aback by the girl’s question. She always was trying to learn new things, but wasn’t this information unnecessary? Copper had tried to learn as little about his fellow competitors as he could. But then again, he was going to die, wasn’t he? It didn’t really matter what _he_ learned, but if someone else was interested in knowing more about him, he didn't mind disclosing a bit.

“Yes, I have a sister named Beatrice. She’s older than me though, by five years.”

Volant spoke. “Good thing your siblings are too old for the Games now. I have an older brother too, and I was always worried that somehow, both of us would get picked in the same year. Irrational, I know. But I feel like that’s exactly the type of thing that the Capitol would do.”

Copper recalled having the same fear. “My sister and I actually talked about that before,” he said quietly. “I agree that the Capitol would do something like that. It would make things more exciting in the arena, I guess, having siblings competing against one another. But I could never hurt my sister or brother.”

“What would you do, Copper, if your sister _did_ get picked, and you both were the last two tributes standing?” Pascal asked. 

The question, while hypothetical, was sadistic. It bothered Copper, but he’d be lying if he said that it never had crossed his mind before.

“I’d just kill myself,” he said, looking into Pascal’s interrogative eyes. “There’s no way I could hurt either of my siblings, let alone kill them.”

“That would show the Capitol,” Volant said. “You’d be telling them that you refuse to go along with their mindless bullshit.”

The girl’s words made Copper nervous, and he could see instant regret in her eyes. 

“They really do hate us,” Copper whispered back, barely thinking about the consequences his words may have. “I know.”

Several moments passed, and since no meteors fell from the sky and no mutts materialized in front of them, he assumed that they were in the clear. At least for now.

A dark, heavy silence descended over the three tributes. It was hard to find things to do in the arena, especially since most of their time had consisted of trying to avoid getting killed. Snow began to fall from the dark, stormy sky, but none of them could see it. They were too far beneath the earth. 

Volant got up and crossed over to the water, staring pensively into its depths for a while. Copper hugged his knees to his chest, all while staring into the flames of their tiny campfire. Pascal was doing the same. 

Asher hadn’t made it this far. He hadn’t even been close. The boy had died just after the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Some would say it _was_ during the bloodbath. Copper remembered the District 12 girl from that year, Cinder, had been the first one to be murdered. The year before Asher, Wren, a 16-year-old from the Seam had also died almost instantly in the bloodbath as well. 

When had a District 12 tribute made it further? He faintly could recall another girl. Was it Dottie something?

Dottie _Donner_. She had been picked when Copper was little, like 11 or something. But even still, the girl had only made it to the second day. He and Adeline had made it further than them all. Copper wondered if he was making history, progressing as far as he had into the Hunger Games. Someone else had won the Games from District 12, but that was the 10th Games. A woman had secured the victory, but her story was largely unknown. Something strange had happened that year. Something with her and President Snow. 

“We need to leave,” Volant said suddenly, walking back to the fire and picking up her spear. “The catfish in the water have disappeared, which is weird, because they were all there last night. I assume the Gamemakers don’t want us here anymore. Probably not entertaining enough.”

Copper nodded silently in agreement. So, tonight would be their last night in this cave. 

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep. All he remembered was lying awake for what felt like years, his mind racing, wondering what would happen next. 

.

.

.

“Copper, get up.” It was Volant. 

He sat up immediately, his heart thundering in his chest. He barely had slept, and now it was time for a whole day of being on the move. Great. 

Pascal was stamping out the remnants of the fire, even though it definitely was nothing more than a smoldering mess. Copper picked up his dart gun, the water bottle from his sponsor, and enclosed his fingers around his district token, the lump of coal that he had brought into the arena with him. He was ready. 

“I’m ready,” he said a little too shakily, looking towards Volant for instruction. “Where are we headed?”

“I was thinking about the woods,” the District 6 girl replied, striking a stone over her spear, sharpening its already deadly blade. “We are _not_ going back to those boulders. There is no food or water in that place, and getting us fed is my primary concern right now.”

Copper was relieved. He never wanted to return to where Adeline had died. Not in a million years, but he wouldn’t live that long. 

_You could keep living,_ the survivalist urged, invading his mind like an intrusive thought. _This isn’t over yet. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?_

The trio set up the slippery slope that led out of the cavern. It was dark, wet, and cold. They climbed in silence, the only sound being the squelch of their boots on damp rock. Finally, after what seemed like almost an hour of climbing, Copper saw light.

Well, it _was_ light. But it wasn’t bright or warm. It was blue and soft, obscured by the dark clouds that were spitting out a steady rain. 

“Rain _again?_ ” Pascal laughed. Even her complaints were tinted with innocence and no real annoyance.

“I guess that’s the theme for this year’s Games,” Copper said, walking out of the boulders and over to the edge of the chasm. “It could be worse. We could be in a volcano...or a swamp.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Volant muttered, glancing around, almost paranoid. “Who knows what the Gamemakers have in store for us.”

“You two are funny,” Pascal said, physically pointing at them both. “Don’t be so cynical. I’m sure it will be fine. Well, technically, it won’t be fine for at least two of us, but I’ve come to terms with that. If you try to appreciate the moment, it makes this bleak situation seem significantly less severe.”

Copper couldn’t relate, but he found himself nodding just so Pascal would feel that he understood. He didn’t. It was hard to not be hopeless right now, but perhaps the girl was right, at least in some regard. He was going to focus on giving what little life he had left some sort of meaning. That is what was keeping him going. 

“We need to get you armed,” he said to Pascal. “If I were you, I’d gather some rocks, or a big rock, or something that you can use to defend yourself. If we make contact with the Careers, it won’t do us much good if you’re empty-handed. I’ve got my dart gun, and Volant has her spear.”

“Thinking strategy, now, are you, Copper?” Pascal said wryly. But she picked up a large, jagged rock nonetheless. “I guess you’re right.”

“I like your thinking, Copper,” Volant said, nodding towards Pascal as she picked up another rock. “Anything can be used as a weapon at this point. I’m sure Pascal would prefer to use her brain, but that’s not really an option right now.”

Pascal shrugged, smirking as she did. “I’m _hungry_.”

“We all are, Pascal,” Volant said. “Just try to hang in there. I’ll get us some food soon, but I’ve got to _find_ some first.”

Copper shivered. Even with his protective jacket, the falling rain seeped into his skin, consuming his very being. He had realized that the clothing provided for tributes in the arena wasn’t as protective as it was costume-like. It sickened him. 

This place was changing him, and in the ways that Copper had feared. It was impossible to think back to life in District 12. He could still remember his family— their faces were clearer than ever. But everything else, the Justice Building, his school, the old playground that he and Asher had once played on...it was growing foggier and foggier. None of those things mattered anymore. It was intriguing how his mind had ridded itself of so much in such a short span of time. Perhaps that was what happened when you knew your days were numbered. Everything that was irrelevant, or perceived as unnecessary, would just...fade away. 

He didn’t like it. 

_If I stay here long enough, will I forget even more?_

He gripped the lump of coal from Steel even more tightly. 

_No, of course not. I will never forget the people who truly matter._

They were in the woods now. The smell of the rain on the leaves was comforting to Copper. He noticed that many of them, while on the ground, were still bright shades of yellow, red, and orange. It wasn’t normal for the color to last this long, was it? Perhaps time had dragged on in the arena, and it really hadn’t been as long as it felt. Or, maybe the leaves were just genetically engineered to preserve their hues. 

_Stupid Gamemakers._ They were probably watching them right now. No, they _definitely_ were. Making sure things were entertaining enough, and ensuring that they were approaching the remaining tributes, no doubt. _They’re probably salivating like demented polar bears, awaiting our deaths while drooling uncontrollably._

 _Polar bears._ Copper shivered. He hoped that he would never have to see one of those again, and maybe he wouldn't. From a Capitolite point of view, Adeline had already died from one, so how fun would that be to watch another tribute being killed by the same thing? He assumed that Iris had also died from the terrifying creatures. That’s what this was about, right? The most interesting show for the Capitol to watch?

 _Partially,_ the survivalist echoed. _It’s meant to be entertaining, but ultimately, nobody really cares if two, three, four, our five tributes are killed by the same thing. The Hunger Games is a punishment. A tool to keep you constrained. You know that, Copper._

He did know this. But the true purpose of the Games was often hidden very well. He wondered if many Capitol people even understood the core reason for its existence. Of course President Snow knew, and the other government officials, but it seemed like everyone else there just viewed it as some sort of corny television show.

.

.

.

Copper awoke to the damp, depressing feeling that he had come to expect. Even so, he didn’t think that he’d ever truly rid himself of the sheer melancholy he experienced each time he plunged back into the world of the Games. There was a fleeting moment, every time he was pulled from his dreams, that Copper forgot where he was. 

Then, it would all come crashing down. The Reaping. The chariot ride. Training. The Capitol. The bloodbath. Annua. Adeline. 

Rain pattered onto his exposed cheek, almost like a wake-up slap from the Gamemakers. The ditch that they had been sleeping in was much more comfortable than the cold, hard floor of the underground cavern.

 **_Yes_** _, yes, I’m up,_ he thought. As if the Gamemakers could hear him. _Let the fun begin._

_Crunch._

_Crunch._

_Footsteps._ Copper felt the familiar freezing sensation of adrenaline pumping through his thin arms and legs. 

“I don’t know how far they could’ve gone,” a sultry voice spoke. It sounded horribly close. 

He almost cried out as a hand suddenly covered his mouth, the other digging into his shoulder. 

“Shh,” Volant whispered. “I knew you’d scream.”

Pascal was cowered next to them, half-concealed underneath a large log. 

“He’s probably off with his little faggot boyfriend from District 12,” a boy’s voice rang back. “Remember when you suggested killing him next? Cyan looked terrified. I bet that idiot didn't think we even noticed. I wouldn't have expected Cyan to be a homo.”

“He’s a fucking sap, that’s for sure,” the sultry voice replied. Copper recognized it, now, as the sleep was fading rapidly from his eyes. "But his muscles don't fool me. I knew he liked dudes."

 _See that? That’s gonna be you someday,_ Victoree had said.

The girl’s voice was unmistakably Victoree's, and Copper could only assume that the other voice belonged to Flint, the District 2 boy. 

The footsteps receded further into the undergrowth. 

Volant let go of his mouth immediately. “Explain.”

“What?” Copper asked, confused. 

“Don’t play dumb,” Volant said. “I heard them mention your district, and that the District 1 boy is with you. I want nothing to do with the Careers, or anyone who has any sort of understanding with them. So explain.”

“I—I don’t have any sort of _understanding_ with any of them!” he spluttered. “I have no idea what she was talking about. I’m an idiot, okay?! I just want them to stay away from me.”

Volant eyed him skeptically. “I just don’t get it. I remember the District 1 boy mentioned you in his tribute interview. It was so weird. Tributes from 1 never talk about District 12, unless they’re referring to their kill count.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Copper sighed, turning away. Pascal had been watching them silently from her log. 

“I think Cyan likes him,” she said, motioning to Copper. “Like, he’s attracted to you, you know?”

Copper froze. _Cyan, attracted to me? ME? No, no...definitely not._

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he said sarcastically. “It’s all an act. Cyan just wants a good show.”

Pascal blinked thoughtfully. “I mean, I didn’t say he was in love with you, that would be ridiculous. I just said that he might be attracted to you. There’s a big difference. Anyway, it’s pretty obvious. I saw him trying to talk to you during our time in the Training Center. Trust me, a Career doesn’t do that type of thing. Initially, I assumed he was just bullying you to inflate his ego, but after mentioning you in his interview, I can’t help but think he is serious. Maybe not as serious as he has played up, but serious nonetheless.”

Copper stared at her. 

“No, no way,” Volant said. And yet, she didn’t seem entirely convinced either way. 

Pascal stuck her hands out on either side of her, raising them in an almost comical shrug. “Hey, it’s just my opinion.”

“Why would Cyan like _me_?” Copper said, still shocked that someone had voiced his secret intuition. It was almost unbelievable. “I’m not _attractive_.”

Pascal laughed. “You’re not ugly, Copper. You’re rather pretty, I’d say. Sure, maybe not as pretty as the king of pretty boys, Cyan Cordierite, but you’re cute. Anyway, your personality is sort of sweet. You’re like, the boy version of me in some ways. And I’m pretty cutesy!”

Volant let out a dramatized gag. “I’m going to barf,” she said, desperately trying to stifle her laughter. “Cyan and Copper...Cypper? Coppan? It doesn’t sound great.”

“They like to pair certain tributes in the Capitol,” Pascal went on, almost as if she hadn’t heard Volant. “I remember a few years ago, everyone wanted the boy from District 1 to be with the girl from 2.”

“That makes zero sense,” Volant said. “There is only one winner. What’s the point of picking out tributes who make cute couples? One of them just dies anyway.”

“I guess it’s the star-crossed lovers aspect of it all,” Pascal answered. “You know, doomed love. It has appeal.”

 _Doomed love._ Is that what people thought of him and Cyan?

 _No, you blithering idiot,_ the survivalist jeered. _You’ve scarcely ever even talked to Cyan! It makes no sense, just like Volant said. Pascal is just talking through the distorted mouthpiece of Capitol culture. It’s all part of the show for them. They made up a false narrative just because Cyan might have a bit of a crush on you._

 _A_ **_bit_ ** _of a crush?_ Copper thought, shocked by the survivalist’s words. 

_Oh, please,_ it retorted. _Be smart, Copper._

**_Author's Note: Reviews, anyone? Comments?_ **


	27. See You Sometime

“There are only eight of us left,” Quay murmured, looking away from Cyan as they sat in the woods. They were eating some sort of bird that Quay had speared with her trident. She really was dangerous, whether the young girl believed it or not. Cyan stood true to his word about Victoree underestimating her.

“And?” Cyan said in his husky voice, prompting the girl to go on. “What difference does that make?”

He knew that this wasn’t going to work. While he somewhat cared about Quay, the girl had invited herself to join him. 

“You meant to leave our camp by yourself. I know that,” she said, mimicking Cyan’s thoughts. “But I just had to get out of there, and it felt like you were my only hope. But I don’t need that now, Cyan.”

He looked up at her. She looked tired, and her hair was no longer styled in the beautiful, fishtail braids that it had been upon entering the arena. Quay’s hair was caked with mud, and deep purple moons lay beneath her eyes. Her dark blue jacket was torn, and a large cut on her cheek had scabbed over.

“We might as well say goodbye now,” Quay continued, already gathering up her trident and sleeping bag. “I don’t want it to come down to the two of us, Cyan.”

While it hurt a little bit to say goodbye to Quay, Cyan knew that it was necessary. It wasn’t like they were friends, but they had faced the same horrors together. 

_Why does it hurt to say goodbye? It shouldn’t, but it does. A lot._ He shook off the thought, almost cringing. Victoree wouldn’t be hurt when parting with Flint. She was strong, bold, and ruthless. Victoree was the type of tribute who became a victor. She would kill Flint in the blink of an eye and think nothing of it. But he, Cyan?

He had trained for years for this. During the Reaping, the chariot ride, and his days in the Training Center, all Cyan daydreamed about was the day when _he_ would finally become a victor.

“Okay,” he replied, and then motioned behind him. “Just don’t go that way, since Victoree and Flint might be coming this way.”

Quay nodded. “I hope I never see them again.”

Then, the girl turned, walking slowly through the trees.

“Hey, Quay?”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“Be careful out there.”

“Of course. Thanks, Cyan. Thanks for getting me out of there. I’ll...see you sometime.”

“See you sometime.”

.

.

.

Cyan sat in silence, not moving even when the sun began to set. Quay must have left hours ago. She would be okay, at least for now. Unless she ran into Victoree and Flint. He knew of the inevitable outcome that would occur from that. 

Victoree and him had known one another for years, but their relationship hadn’t been anything more than cordial. Although Victoree had wanted something else. Cyan was quite aware of that. They sparred all the time during training, and he found that the match was pretty even. She was the only person who really challenged him at the academy.

Then, he had rejected the girl’s romantic advances. At first, he just assumed that Victoree was only play-flirting. While the girl was known primarily for her deadly combat abilities, Cyan knew that she was also known for her stunning appearance and flirtatious nature. 

He had told Victoree that while he respected her and considered her a great sparring partner, he simply was not interested in pursuing anything. And as the words came out, something snapped inside her. 

Victoree became more aggressive. Their sparring matches became more difficult for Cyan. He was falling behind, and Victoree was only getting better. The girl was armed with bitterness, now. Bitterness towards him. The vindictive energy that she had acquired from the rejection fueled her fighting skills. Cyan found himself unable to beat her. It seemed like every time they practiced, Victoree was genuinely trying to kill him. 

What if he had accepted her offer? What would have happened then? 

_You’d be unhappy,_ a voice inside him said. He knew it was right. _It’s okay to be the way you are. There is no shame in liking or not liking someone. We cannot help who we are attracted to._

He thought of Copper. He was the exact opposite of Victoree. Why couldn’t Cyan like Victoree? It would’ve been so easy. So effortless. He was a Career, and a soon-to-be victor. Victors married other victors, at least in District 1. Back home, all the female victors were just like Victoree. Beautiful and dangerous. Arrogant and violent. 

But why did he have to hate those traits as much as he did? Clearly, there was something wrong with him. Cyan didn’t find those things desirable at all. It was like there was a glitch in his brain. He felt like an imposter in his own district, even though this metamorphosis had occurred in what felt like the blink of an eye.

Why did he have to like the ones who were pitiful, weak, and shy? Why did he have to like the ones like _Copper?_

_It could’ve been Victoree Obdurate, but no, it had to be Copper Hurst._

It was uncomfortable to think about. Cyan didn’t like this side to him, no matter how many times he tried to coax himself into relaxing about it. But at the end of the day, he couldn’t change. And that was something that he had learned to accept. It was still difficult, though, especially during times like this. This was the Hunger Games, and no matter who you liked, whether it was a boy or a girl, it was vital that they weren’t in the arena with you. 

That is what really hurt him. This was going to end badly no matter what. 

It just _had_ to be Copper. Copper, the boy who fired an arrow two lousy feet. The same Copper who scored a _three_ in training. The boy who couldn’t fight, whose hair stood on end when Cyan approached him...and yet, the redhead _had somehow made it this far._

Cyan wondered why Copper had been so cold to him during their time in the training center. His hateful words after the tribute parade still echoed in the Career’s mind. It contrasted the Copper that he saw on stage with Caesar. The Copper who gave Cyan the cold shoulder was much different than the shy, kind boy who he saw walking up the steps to the Justice Building in District 12 after being reaped. He knew the boy was good-hearted. He saw how he smiled at the District 8 pair and invited them to sit with him. And yet, that District 8 boy still tried to kill him. 

A switch was flipped in Copper when Cyan was around, and it brought out a skeptical, unfriendly version of the boy that Cyan knew wasn’t his real personality. But why?

Copper...he had heard the name before, long before entering the arena. It was a nice name, but where had he heard it? It wasn’t a precious metal by any means. Nobody in District 1 would name their child that. 

A voice came to him, very unique and almost wispy. 

“ _I just wanted to tell my best friend, Copper, that I miss him.”_

 _Who had said that? Who had missed Copper?_ Cyan sifted through his memories. 

It was an interview, he recalled. A few years ago. The voice belonged to a tall, blonde boy who had sat next to Caesar Flickerman. 

Asher.

_Oh, I forgot about him. He was in the Games a few years ago. I liked District 12 the most that year. Victoree’s sister and some other asshole were the tributes from 1. And Asher had said that Copper was his best friend?_

Hadn’t Asher been killed almost right away? He had been killed...by Victoree’s sister. 

_That might be why Copper hates me,_ he thought. _District 1 killed his best friend._

.

.

.

Sitting underneath the rain-soaked trees, Copper began to think about what his new purpose was. He had always assumed, through all of this, that he would die protecting Adeline. But that had not happened. Now, the District 12 boy had to find a new meaning. 

_Going back home would sure as hell have a lot of meaning,_ the survivalist said. _And you promised your family that you would do your best to return back to them. It would mean quite a lot for you to do that._

But that was most likely not an option. That would require killing someone in cold blood, something that Copper knew simply was not an option for him. 

_Maybe you wouldn’t have to kill anyone,_ the survivalist echoed, its tone resembling Cerritulus’ in the launching room. _Anyway, you already have murdered someone. One more time wouldn’t hurt._

 _Yes, yes it would hurt!_ Copper yelled back in his mind. The self-preserving survivalist scared him sometimes. But even so, its incessant voice rarely impacted his actual decisions. His choices were what defined him, and the survivalist had no power over that.


	28. Smile

Victoree’s parents stood outside their mansion in the Victors’ Village. The pastel-colored homes were a stark contrast to the dark, gloomy brick ones that resided in the Victors’ Village back in District 12. The couple’s daughter, Crystal, was currently immersed in a conversation with Caesar Flickerman. The host had ventured a short distance from the Capitol to District 1 so he could interview Victoree’s family. She was still in the Games, after all. Of course she was. She would be winning, too. 

“Competing in the Hunger Games has always been a goal of Victoree and I,” Crystal said, her syrupy voice not so different from her sister’s. “My dad is a victor, and so is my mom. I remember growing up and always wanting to be just like them. My Games were easy for the most part, and I think Victoree would feel the same about hers, at least so far. I know she’s going to win!”

“Do you have any advice for Victoree, Crystal?” Caesar asked. “Of course you can’t tell her now, but what would you say to her, if you could?”

Crystal smiled, revealing brilliantly white teeth. Apparently, the Capitol had fixed them after she won. The District 4 boy had punched almost all of them out in the final minutes of the 39th Hunger Games. She hadn’t been smiling back then. 

“I’d tell her to keep doing exactly what she’s been doing,” Crystal said generically. “And not to trust anyone. But I know Victoree has the right mindset. She has always been a fighter, even more so than me. And I won my Games, obviously! Victoree will be fine. She’ll be home soon, and she’ll probably watch this interview and make fun of me for sounding stupid.”

Caesar laughed. “I love your confidence in your sister! It’s always nice to see you and your parents, Crystal. You are quite literally Panem’s model family. Capitol favorites, if I do say so myself!”

Crystal smirked. “Only the best reside here in District 1, Caesar.”

Cyan’s family was interviewed next. They lived just down the road from the Obdurates, in an equally stunning home due to Mr. Cordierite’s victory in the 19th Hunger Games. 

“I don’t know what Cyan thought he was doing, mentioning that District 12 boy in his interview,” Mr. Cordierite told Caesar. “I’m sure it was all part of a strategy he has in mind, but it still came as a shock to his mother and I. I’m not exactly thrilled that he abandoned his alliance with District 2 and Victoree Obdurate, but I guess it’s normal at this stage. If I could’ve told him anything, I would’ve advised him to stay with the others longer.”

Cyan’s older brother was then interviewed.

“I don’t know what the deal is with the District 12 boy,” he huffed, looking awkwardly into the camera. “Victoree kept saying that he was Cyan’s boyfriend or something, but Cyan isn’t like that. I think he actually had a crush on Victoree for a while.”

The boy’s comments were shaking things up, but were they true? Did Cyan really have a thing for Victoree? The Capitolites had to be listening with eager ears. After all, many of them loved pairing pretty District 1 tributes together on a regular basis. 

“ _Ooo_ , Cyan and Victoree?” Caesar probed, his eyes glinting amber. “Do tell us more, Cerulean!”

Cerulean bit his lip, almost as if he was trying to look attractive for the audience. “I don’t really know much else, Caesar,” he confessed, remembering Cyan talking about Victoree asking him out a while ago. After all, they were always together, at school and at training. But he was forbidden to mention anything that would insinuate preparation for the Games. It _was_ illegal. _Technically._

“Victoree _did_ ask Cyan out,” Cerulean found himself saying, earning a look of astonishment from Caesar. “I mean, they were always hanging out, whether it was at school, or...other places. I don’t really know for sure if they dated, though. Cyan and I didn’t talk much about it.” The Capitol women were probably relishing his every sentence now.

“ _Very_ interesting,” Caesar said. “And how old are you, Cerulean?”

“Nineteen,” he replied awkwardly. “I missed my chance for the Games, but Cyan’s got this. My dad has always wanted one of us to be a victor, so I guess it’s gonna have to be Cy. Actually, I _know_ it’s gonna be him.”

.

.

.

Cerritulus didn’t know why the class of young Capitol children had invaded his work space, but here they were. The children clambered about, talking noisily amongst themselves. Several district stylists were in the room, as well as a few other escorts. This was highly inconvenient; he needed to check Copper’s table screen to make sure he was okay. It was some sort of career day, Cerritulus assumed, although he couldn’t remember participating in one back in his own school days. 

Back then, he and President Snow had known one another. The leader of Panem was a part of a special assignment when he was a senior at the academy. Cerritulus remembered that he was asked to mentor the District 12 girl in the Hunger Games, when mentoring was only in its conception. 

“Excuse me, sir!” a young girl said, waddling over to Cerritulus, fixing her puffy hair as she did so. “What is _your_ job?” Her sudden interest took the man by surprise.

Cerritulus prepared himself to respond. It took only seconds— after all, he had been doing this for ages. It was the same preparation he did before choosing tributes for the Hunger Games. Before having any sort of conversation with a Capitol official. 

“Why, I’m an escort, _and_ a mentor!” he replied with fake jubilee, sinking down to the girl’s height so he could be level with her. 

“Oh, wow!” she replied, tugging at her violet dress, her eyes sparkling with interest and enthusiasm. “That’s a lot! Why are you both?”

Caesar felt his heart begin to sink, but his silvery smile did not betray him. “I’m both because there is nobody yet to mentor District 12 tributes,” he said, acting as if it was the most normal, fun thing in the world. 

“District 12,” the girl began. “Hm. They’re not so good, are they?”

Cerritulus frowned in an exaggerated way. “Why, that’s not true! They are simply the best, at least to me! I wouldn’t want to work with any other district! Each one is unique, and I have a fondness for District 12 that the other districts just can’t compete with.”

The girl nodded. “I think it’s neat to mentor a lesser-known district. Is it hard, being an escort?”

Cerritulus didn’t think that District 12 was as lesser-known as they were just considered to be undesirable, impoverished scum. But he wasn’t about to say that to this young lady. Being an escort _was_ hard, but probably not in the way most people would expect. What on earth was he going to tell this girl?

“Being an escort isn’t always hard,” he replied honestly, “And if you care about the tributes who you are bringing to the Capitol, it can even be rewarding. Not everyone can be an escort, though. You must always smile, even if you feel as if everything is crumbling down around you.” 

He revealed his brilliant silver teeth, contorting his mouth into yet another superficial grin. It almost hurt, smiling this much. Especially with nothing to smile for. 

“I’m great at smiling,” the girl replied, revealing her own set of pearly whites. “I think I want to become an escort when I grow up, just like you!”

Cerritulus smiled again, despite the pain. “That’s wonderful! And what is your name, young lady?”

“Effie,” she said, pointing to her name tag as if it was obvious, and, much to Cerritulus’ dismay, he supposed it was. “Effie Trinket!”

“Well, it has been wonderful to meet you, Effie! But if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on one of my tributes! I hope to maybe see you someday as an escort for District 12!”

He didn’t wait for the girl to respond. Instead, Cerritulus practically ran away, desperate to check Copper’s table screen. He had a bad feeling.

.

.

.

A parachute floated down through the trees rapidly. It landed next to Copper with a very loud _thud,_ pulling the boy out of his daydream.

“Oh, what’s that?” Pascal piped, crouching beside him to examine the gift. 

Copper was on it immediately, his fingers working hard to open it. The cold made it harder to use his hands. When the boy finally popped the parachute open, he was just as curious as Pascal was about the contents of it. What was inside confused him. Were they spikes? He didn’t know what the long, needle-like things were.

 _What? This isn’t food!_ the hungry survivalist said.

“Oh, they’re darts!” Pascal exclaimed. “Ooo, and they look like they contain some sort of liquid.”

 _Darts, of course,_ Copper realized. There were exactly two, but their bright yellow color made them stand out from the four blue ones he currently possessed. He could only guess that the liquid that Pascal had mentioned was poison. They must have cost a fortune.

“Why did I get these?” he questioned aloud. “I- I don’t n-needed them, not really. Unless something bad is g-going to happen.”

 _Was_ something bad going to happen? Had Cerritulus sent them with a specific purpose in mind? Did the man know that the Careers were hot on their trail? Did he see them turn around on one of the cameras, only to trek back to Copper’s hideaway? There was no note. It scared Copper.

“Don’t panic,” Pascal said reassuringly. “I’m sure he just wants you to be prepared, that’s all.”

Her words were very naive, almost as naive as Copper had felt prior to the Games. 

“We should get moving,” he said, glancing up at Volant, who had just returned from a hunt empty-handed. “Maybe we can pick berries or something, if there are any around. I’m hungry.”

He was trying to conceal the fact that he was terrified. This was a warning, that was for sure. The absence of a note from Cerritulus was almost a message in itself. The man couldn’t inform them of any threats lurking about, but his silence seemed urgent and purposeful. This screamed “DANGER!” in blinking red letters to Copper.

.

.

.

_**S** mile, the worst is yet to come  
We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun  
Got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while  
But the future is forgiven so smile _

_Time will eventually knock on my door_   
_And tell me I'm not needed around anymore_   
_But he'll hold me so close at the end of the day_

\- Mikky Ekko, _Smile_


	29. Error

“I think something bad is going to happen,” Copper said anxiously, already walking in the opposite direction that the Careers had come from earlier. “We _have_ to go.”

He couldn’t explain why he felt this way. Were two poison darts delivered to him via parachute really a warning, or was he just overreacting? Copper had grown to interpret the world as malevolent and cold, but who could go through the Hunger Games _without_ adopting this view? They were never safe, of course they weren’t, but he had a feeling that danger was lurking very close by.

“I’m not in a huge hurry to leave, Copper,” Volant said. “What’s your deal?”

Copper squirmed unwillingly, feeling a surge of fiery annoyance with the girl. 

“I’m worried that the Careers are nearby. Why else would I have been sent these darts?” He held them up as if they were a prophetic sign from the heavens. 

“Um, o-kay,” Volant continued, seemingly unconvinced. “I guess we can keep going, but how about we start looking around for berries while we walk? Apparently, I suck at using my spear all of a sudden. I had _so_ many chances to get us a squirrel, but my aim has been really bad today.”

Copper suppressed the urge to yell at her, to tell her that they needed to run. Instead, he found himself saying, “Alright. Let’s go, then.”

The trio walked through the woods, their feet making soft crunching noises on the combination of leaves and dusty snow on the ground. 

“I wonder if there are any berry bushes that are even _alive_ right now,” Volant said, pointing to a bushel of holly encased in a layer of ice. “But I guess frozen berries would be better than none.”

Pascal spoke. “I think that any vegetation would be preserved due to genetic modification,” she said brainily. “Frozen berries might be tasty, anyway.”

.

.

.

“They’re walking the other way, now,” Cerritulus said, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank goodness that Copper took my gift seriously.”

It had cost a fortune, getting the boy those two darts. In fact, the price was so extreme that Cerritulus doubted that he would be able to send anything else to the boy for his remaining time in the arena. 

Unexpectedly, the Career “pack” had turned around. Victoree and Flint had come across an open tundra, and the girl said she didn’t see the point in venturing any further, as “No tributes would be dumb enough to come here. There’s nowhere to hide or take shelter.”

This was a terrifying occurrence, as they were now reversing their steps and heading back to where Copper and his allies were camped out. Thankfully, though, the Inferno-Boy’s group was now walking diagonally from where they had come from. Victoree and Flint most likely wouldn’t cross paths with them, at least not yet.

“That was incredibly smart of you, Cerritulus,” Livia breathed, not taking her eyes off the screen. 

_“Come on, guys, hurry up,”_ Copper said anxiously on screen, earning an inquisitive look from the minuscule District 3 girl and an eye-roll from District 6. 

“I wonder what will happen?” Livia said, taking a long sip from her mug of tea. “I can’t say I’ve been this invested in the Games in quite some time.”

“Neither have I,” Cerritulus agreed. While it was easy to lose hope when his District 12 tributes died, it was just as easy to regain that spark when they made it even a moment longer than the initial bloodbath. No matter how burnt out Cerritulus became, he always found hope at the end of the day. 

“I’m scared for him.” He pointed to Copper. 

“He’s running out of food,” Livia said, nodding. “I can tell he’s hungry. Do you think there will be a feast soon?”

“Possibly. But the number of kids is going to have to go down a little more for that. They usually only have feasts when four to six tributes remain.”

“Have his parents been interviewed?” 

“Yes,” Cerritulus said. “You’ll have to watch it later. They didn’t say much, although Copper’s sister garnered most of the attention. I was so frazzled watching him in the arena that I nearly forgot about the interview. I’ve never had a District 12 tribute make it far enough to have their family interviewed, after all.”

.

.

.

Quay sat on the tundra, the harsh wind cutting through her jacket like it was nothing at all. It was too cold to stay here, she knew that. But where else was there to go? The only place she desired was one away from this arena, on the warm coast of District 4. That wasn’t an option, but Quay had accepted that long ago. Everywhere she turned, something was blocking her escape. How much longer was this going to last? 

Why had she volunteered? What a mistake. A fatal, abhorrent mistake.

If only she could go back to that warm, sunny day back in District 4. The escort had called some random girl, and she volunteered without even thinking. She had thought she was strong enough. Prepared enough. But here, in the apathetic world of the Games, she now realized how mistaken she truly had been. There was no going back, though, and daydreaming about not volunteering wouldn’t help anything.

Pike hadn't volunteered. He was just another victim of the Capitol’s aimless brutality. But Quay supposed that they all were, whether they had willingly chosen this or not. Perhaps those who volunteered were victims even more so, since they were so blinded by oppression that they thought the Hunger Games was something worth volunteering for. After all, she had been one of those people only weeks ago.

Victoree had killed Pike in a fit of rage. While Quay didn’t know him personally, the boy’s death felt like a personal attack on her. He was from the fishing district too. Why hadn’t she done something? She could’ve sprung on Victoree, pushing her off Pike from behind, sending _her_ spiraling over the cliff’s edge to a gruesome death. 

But Flint would’ve done something. He would’ve killed her _and_ Pike, and then he and Selene would’ve ganged up on Cyan. Or was her mind just making up random scenarios that didn’t matter? Quay guessed that it was a little bit of both. Nevertheless, a bitter resentment for Victoree began to brew within the girl. 

Now, Quay felt hopeless. But with this came a disturbing clarity in her mind. 

She saw the Games for how they truly were. What had she been _thinking?_ Pike had been pushed over the edge of the chasm by Victoree, and all she had done was flinch! There was something seriously wrong with her. 

_Well, that’s one less person I’ve got to deal with now,_ she had thought at the time. 

But that thought process disgusted her now. She wasn’t the District 7 boy, who was content with murdering his district partner without a second thought. Quay still felt like Pike’s blood was on her hands. She knew she couldn’t win this. There was no possibility. But maybe she could do something, something that should’ve been done a long time ago. 

What had she told Cyan a few days ago?

 _“I_ **_hope_ ** _I never see them again.”_

But Pike probably _hoped_ that she would stand up for him. He had probably _hoped_ that he wouldn’t see the bottom of a dark, scary chasm as he plummeted to his imminent death. But he had, and Quay felt that she was responsible for that. 

She had never known Pike, and even so, Quay knew that she had to correct her mistake. And there was only one way the girl really knew how to. She had to go after the Careers, specifically Victoree. 

Would she die? The answer was almost a guaranteed yes. But that wasn’t what mattered anymore. What mattered was making up for the cruel error that she had made. Quay wasn’t an ordinary Career, and she was painfully aware of that. Maybe she wasn’t as ruthless or tough as Victoree or Flint, but she had done enough killing already to realize that there was no life after the Games. Not for her. Her very consciousness was tainted by an unmeasurable dysphoria, a discomfort so great that she could barely stand it. Being with Cyan had briefly numbed that. 

Cyan was the one who had to win. And for him to win, and for Pike to be avenged, the most dangerous tributes needed to be taken out. 

Quay got to her feet, holdng her trident in front of her with a newfound purpose, and set off toward the woods. She would find Victoree eventually. And when she did...well, she would just have to take it in stride, not backing down no matter what happened. This was for Pike. This was so Cyan could win. 

.

.

.

Copper awoke with the same feelings that he had grown accustomed to dealing with. Cold, aching, and hungry. They hadn’t had any luck with finding blueberries, at least not yet. After trekking for a few hours yesterday, Volant convinced him that it was safe to stop and sleep for the night. 

_“Relax,”_ she had said. _“I’m going to keep watch, and then Pascal will go after me. You can just sleep. It seems like you need it the most.”_

The spear that Volant had acquired from the Cornucopia certainly made Copper feel a little better, especially since he knew that the girl was at least moderately good at using it. She had scored a 7 in training. That was over double his score. 

“Are you okay, Copper?”

The sound of Pascal’s concerned voice irritated him, but he supposed that it was probably just because he had accidentally slept on a tree root last night. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he said quietly, rubbing his back. “I think I just slept funny last night.”

“Nobody has died for a little bit.”

Well, yes, that was true. Nobody had died for a little bit, but what did the girl mean, bringing it up like that? Did she finally understand Copper’s anxiety from yesterday? Was the fact that he received poison darts with no note as a sponsor gift sinking in at last? She wasn’t dumb, but maybe the girl had just been late to catch onto this.

“I have a feeling that something is going to happen soon,” she went on, a note of sadness in her voice. “I don’t really want to face the day.”

Copper knew that however awful he felt at the moment, he had to do his best to lift Pascal’s spirits. It was true, today could be her last day on earth, or his, or Volant’s. There was no point in moping around, being all sad. The circumstances that they were in could not be worse. But they had to make the best of it. 

“We should keep looking for blueberries!” he said, forcing a smile. “I bet you’re just hungry, Pascal. I feel like garbage too, but a good meal will definitely help us to feel better!”

 _This_ earned Copper a slight smile from the girl, and it made him feel warm inside. He had made her feel better, no matter how slight it was. This is what it meant to give meaning to his remaining time on earth. He was going to be a good person, spreading light to those around him, even if it was hard. The inner turmoil that he felt whirling around inside him seemed to die down when he acted compassionately. 

Apparently, Volant was tired from a night of watching to make sure nobody invaded their camp. 

“You guys go without me,” she yawned, leaning closer to the fallen log that they had been using as shelter. “Nobody will find me. I’ve got my spear, anyway. Just bring me back some blueberries. If you find any, that is.”

She was clearly doubtful that Copper and Pascal would come across any. But Copper had no choice but to hope for the best, as Pascal’s mood was at stake here. Also, hunger clawed at his belly like the talons of a starving animal. In fact, he could hardly think of anything besides food at the moment. Even a piece of soggy bread would be tasty right now. 

It was sleeting as usual, and the woods had taken on a glistening, glassy look. Rainwater had frozen on the trees, encasing them in shiny ice. It was beautiful, even without the sunlight to reflect off of it. 

“Wow,” Pascal breathed, transfixed by the sight. “It’s so pretty.”

They continued walking for several moments, not finding much in the way of bushes. Then, unexpectedly, Copper saw a bushel glinting up ahead, clearly embellished with dark berries. 

“There!” he said excitedly, pointing to the bush. He hadn’t anticipated them finding any at all. 

Rushing over to it, Copper immediately recognized the fruit to be blueberries. Thank goodness!

“I don’t know much about berries at all,” Pascal said from behind him, reaching out to touch the bush. “But even _I_ know that these are blueberries. We don’t have much in the way of fruit in District 3, but my mom has gotten blueberries for us a few times. I hope they taste just as good as I remember!”

She reached out and plucked a frozen blueberry from the bush, tossing it into her mouth hungrily. 

“Mmm!” she said a little too enthusiastically, making Copper smile. “These are _so_ yummy!”

Pascal took another berry, and then another, and then another. She chewed ravenously, fresh positivity radiating in her green eyes. “I feel so much better!”

“I knew you would!” Copper said, happy that the girl was feeling a little more like her old self. This had been a good idea. He felt proud of himself, suggesting that they look for berries. For once, he had done something right. 

Pascal continued to pull more berries off the bush, eating them with a ferocity that Copper hadn’t guessed that she possessed. 

“Pascal, we really should be saving these blueberries,” he laughed, grabbing her hand before she could eat another. “Volant will want some, too!”

The girl gave him a sheepish grin. 

“You’re right,” she said, the berry juice staining her lips. “I was just hungry! But look, there are more bushes behind it!”

She pointed behind the bush, and Copper could see a row of bushes stretching back for several yards, all full of dark, delicious-looking berries. 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, feeling differently now that he knew they had a lot of berries to spare. “Well, in that case, I guess we can eat a few!”

“A few” berries turned out to be literally an entire bush, at least for Copper. The tangy, sweet taste of the blueberries reminded him of life back in District 12, specifically during the summer months. Those times were a combination of happy and sad. Happy because it was warm, food wasn’t as scarce, and his family did a lot of things outdoors. The Hunger Games happened during the summer, though, and the taste of the blueberries brought back memories of long nights of watching the Games in the District 12 square, the screens illuminated amidst a firefly-filled sky. 

“Are you okay, Copper?” Pascal asked from in front of him. She had turned around, a look of concern upon her face. 

He hadn’t realized that he had zoned out. The taste of the blueberries really brought his mind to another place. 

“Yeah,” he replied, still pulling himself from the memories. “I was just thinking.”

Pascal laughed. 

_“What?”_ he asked indignantly, putting his hands on his hips. What was so funny?

“Oh nothing,” Pascal smiled, pointing to her mouth. “You just look funny with berry juice all over your mouth.”

He wiped his mouth hastily. “Ha-ha. Let’s pick some more berries. And we _cannot_ eat these! Volant needs some. She has got to keep her strength up, too.”

Pascal gave him a quirky salute before turning back to her bush. “Yes sir.”

He rolled his eyes as the girl went back to tossing berries into the backpack Volant had given them, but he wasn’t really upset. Pascal’s comical energy was refreshing and much needed in the arena.

“How much longer, Copper?” Pascal asked after several more minutes had passed. “I’m still hungry, and all this picking has just made me even less patient than I was before!”

“Just a minute,” he called back, picking a few more berries.

Copper was running out of room in his pockets to carry the fruit, so they would need to go back soon. As he moved onto the next bush, he gasped in horror as he realized the berries that he was holding were _nightlock._

That day in the Training Center came crashing down upon him like a concrete slab.

_A large "X" appeared over one of the berries he had marked as safe to eat. They were blueberries, weren't they?_

_NIGHTLOCK- Native to District 12. Highly poisonous. Inhibits cellular respiration resulting in the inability to create ATP. Death results in 1-4 minutes._

Dropping the nightlock in terror, Copper immediately looked at all the berries he had already picked. They definitely were blueberries. The nightlock he had picked had been growing from a separate bush that was almost intertwined with the blueberry one. 

_How clever of the Gamemakers,_ he thought sarcastically. _But they can’t fool me._

As he collected his last handful of berries, a loud _boom_ rang out through the sky. 

The cannon.

“Pascal?!” he yelped, whirling around, expecting to see Victoree or some other Career lurking nearby.

But, deep down, Copper knew that there was nobody else around. The sinking feeling in his stomach only sank further as his eyes fell onto the body of Pascal, who was sprawled out on the ground next to the bush that she had been picking from. The dark, black juice of nightlock berries stained the small girl’s lips. 

All of the blueberries that Copper had picked tumbled from his hands as he swayed dizzily. His vision constricted into a narrow tunnel, and a wave of nausea consumed him. 

_“How much longer, Copper? I’m still hungry, and all this picking has just made me even less patient than I was before!”_

She mistook nightlock for blueberries. She had kept going on and on about being so hungry…

Copper felt like he was going to faint. He should have _known._ Nightlock berries looked _way_ too much like blueberries to the amateur berry-picker, especially someone from a district with nothing but dark factories and grassless streets. 

He collapsed next to the fallen District 3 tribute, sobbing uncontrollably. 

_It’s all my fault. She’s dead because of me! Why didn’t I check on her as soon as I saw the nightlock? I knew she was hungry…_


	30. Going Under

Copper stumbled through the woods, dreading his reunion with Volant. He had lost the blueberries, but more devastatingly, he had lost Pascal.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed aloud, apologizing to nobody at all. “I-I’m sorry that I let her d-die.”

What did District 3 think? They were probably rageful, screaming at him to suffer a painful death at the hands of Flint or Victoree or Leif. 

.

.

.

The Gamemakers stared intently at their table screens, watching the blonde District 1 girl and her brutal companion approaching the sleeping District 6 tribute. Her spear would’ve been useful, if only she was awake. 

Meanwhile, the District 12 boy was tottering pathetically through the woods, sniffling obnoxiously as tears ran down his reddened face. He was also approaching the others, which would lead to an unavoidable bloodbath. The audience was going to get exactly what they wanted, no manipulation from the Gamemakers required.

“Get another cannon ready,” the head Gamemaker said, smirking at the others. “Or two.”

Victoree didn’t even try to sneak up upon Volant. It was no fun taking somebody by surprise. She wasn’t Leif, snake-like and silent, doing his best to insidiously creep upon them. No, Victoree was going to put on a grand show for the Capitol and for the districts. She hoped that the transportation district was watching now, more than any of the others. They were going to lose their tribute girl now.

“Give me your sword,” Victoree commanded Flint, who passed it over with no hesitation.

“Aw, you’re going to take her out?” The boy said, frowning slightly as Victoree tossed her bow and arrows to the ground, waving her new weapon several times to get used to it. “That’s no fun.”

“Oh, please,” Victoree said, exhaling in annoyance. “I’ll let you kill _Cyan_ , if that’s what you want. And trust me, I really want to be the one who ends him. Or you can kill that pathetic District 12 boy, unless the cannon we just heard was really him. He wouldn’t be a challenge, though.”

“I just want to kill someone,” Flint said, apparently not caring who it was. “I don’t need a challenge yet. I’m going to save that for the end.”

He clearly was talking about Victoree, and how the showdown between the two of them was rapidly approaching. This alliance was strictly business, even if the two tributes reaped more _intimate_ benefits from it as well. The moment everyone else was dead, it would be a gore-filled fight, District 1 versus District 2. That’s how it almost always was. 

Volant awoke, her heart thundering in her chest as she saw the District 1 girl approach her, wielding a shiny sword. Her brown eyes widened in horror.

“COPPER!” She screamed, fumbling for her spear wildly as the blonde Career slashed at her, already doing substantial damage. “COPPER!”

“What the hell?!” Victoree said, her voice full of disbelief. “You mean that District 12 weakling is _still_ alive?”

.

.

.

Copper heard Volant scream his name from nearby. What was happening, now? Surely she wasn’t in danger? And yet, his name had erupted from the girl’s throat in a strained and panicky way, sharply contrasting her usual tone, even when she yelled.. Something was wrong. Extremely wrong.

He felt disoriented, but kept trudging through the woods, determined to get to Volant, to protect her from whatever was causing the girl distress.

 _Turn around!_ the survivalist commanded, its voice an unwelcome ringing in Copper’s mind. _Abandon her! Save yourself!_

 _Shut up!_ Copper thought vehemently. 

_All that Cerritulus has done for you, and Adeline, and everyone else! All of it is being wasted, Copper! You idiot!_

_I SAID SHUT UP,_ Copper thought, desperately trying to drown out the selfish survivalist. To his surprise, it worked. 

He could hear the screams and cries of Volant much more clearly now, but another sound caused the boy to swivel around. 

He was met with the intense gaze of Quay, the girl from District 4. Copper shut his eyes, waiting for her to sprint up to him, for her to pierce his chest with that deadly trident of hers. 

Several moments passed. 

The blow didn’t come.

Copper opened his eyes, only to see Quay walking quietly away from him towards Volant’s screams. He was still paralyzed with fear, unable to understand why she didn’t kill him.

Though everything within him screamed, “RUN AWAY!” Copper followed Quay out into the clearing, his hand enclosed around his dart gun, knowing fully that he was falling willingly into the hungry hands of death. 

District 12 was surely bewildered by his decision. All he could picture was his mother, desperately shouting for him to go the other way, to save himself. Cerritulus probably thought the same, shaking Copper’s table screen with frustration and fear as he did the opposite of what everyone had told him to do.   
  


_“Copper Hurst!” Cerritulus had chanted, the man’s face wet with the falling rain._

This was it, the moment that everything had led up to. From the moment Copper’s name was snagged from that giant glass bowl on the stage of District 12, he knew his fate was sealed.

But he had never imagined that it would end like this. He never would’ve thought that he’d make it this far. Copper supposed that perhaps that was a blessing in itself, however much smoke he had to clear to realize that.

He wasn’t able to save Asher, or Adeline, or Pascal. Their ghosts would haunt him as long as he kept breathing, but that wouldn’t be much longer. The pain would end, and it would end with him protecting Volant. This is what it meant to give meaning to his pathetically short life. It meant risking everything for his loved ones, and when that failed, it meant sacrificing himself for someone who didn’t deserve to die.

That someone was Volant. From the moment she had been chosen, Copper had sensed that the girl was a good person. She was strong and resilient, so unlike the many tributes that District 6 had sent off to the Games before. Volant deserved to go home, to give District 6 a new reputation.

The people of the transportation district would receive food from the Capitol for a year as an acknowledgment of Volant’s triumph. Future tributes would have a decent mentor, not a drug addict who didn’t care. The Games would still exist, and a veil of hopelessness and dread would still be cloaked over the districts, but this would better the world. Copper knew that however small it was, this action of bravery would leave a lasting impact, even if it was one that many people would overlook.

He loaded his dart gun.

Quay reached the others before him, and the sight that awaited Copper sent a dull chill down his spine. It wasn’t the adrenaline-laced feeling that he had grown to feel so often. This was something else entirely. The only way he could describe it was a haunting, eerily calm feeling. He could barely hear anything, but his vision intensified in clarity as he focused on Victoree’s sword clashing against Volant’s spear, the girl’s teeth bared in ferocity. Flint stood some ways away, apparently opting out of the fight. No doubt Victoree had told him that this was her battle, and hers alone. 

Copper slammed against a tree, the dizzy feeling returning quite suddenly and powerfully, almost incapacitating him. He was only a few hundred yards away. What happened next, he would remember for the rest of his life.

Victoree screamed at Flint, apparently noticing Quay sprinting in their direction. The trident in her hands was bringing out terror in even the District 1 girl. Volant dropped her spear in shock, frozen by Quay’s sudden appearance. Victoree used the girl’s surprise as an opportunity. 

She grabbed Volant, laughing evilly as she brought the girl into a chokehold. Flint was rushing over to Quay, his muscles rippling as he ran. Quay panicked, unsure of what to do. Should she attack Victoree, or Flint?

There was no time to choose. Instinctively, she threw her trident at Victoree, whose smile evaporated instantly. The blonde Career shoved Volant in front of her, moving to the side as the weapon impaled her. 

Volant coughed wetly, blood spraying from her mouth and onto Victoree’s arm and face. She continued gasping for air, a horrific whistling noise shrieking shrilly as she tried to breathe. 

Flint was then on Quay, slamming the girl to the ground with one hand, his other holding a long, sharp knife.

That was enough that Copper could handle. The tree felt wonderfully solid against his sinking body as he lost consciousness. The waves of pain that had lapped at him before now reared high up and washed over his head, pulling him under. 

He did not resurface.


	31. Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, these are the tributes still in the Games —
> 
> District 1, Luxury: Victoree Obdurate & Cyan Cordierite 
> 
> District 2, Masonry: Flint Lyem
> 
> District 7, Lumber: Leif Mason
> 
> District 12, Coal Mining: Copper Hurst

_BOOM!_ the cannon roared without warning, making the hairs on Cyan’s back raise on end. 

_Who was that?_

Several moments passed. The dirty blonde Career didn’t move from his alcove amongst the other boulders. 

_BOOM!_

.

.

.

Victoree huffed, shoving the body of her human shield off of her before attempting to wipe the fallen tribute’s blood from her face. It didn’t work; the red smeared grotesquely across her cheeks, giving her an even more monstrous look.

“Whatever,” she said under her breath. “The rain will wash it off.”

Flint moved away from the unmoving corpse of Quay, revealing horrific stab wounds on her abdomen and face.

“Only four— er, _three_ tributes left to go,” he said, smiling at Victoree. His teeth were coated in blood. Apparently Quay had done some damage, even without a weapon to fend the boy off with. 

_No, you were right the first time,_ Victoree thought, tucking a strand of frizzy blonde hair behind her ear. _Only four more of you to take out, and then I’m back home._

She had made it this far without getting injured whatsoever, and Victoree planned to keep it that way. Even Flint, a boy much more muscular and tough-looking than her was sporting his first wounds of the 42nd Hunger Games.

Crystal hadn’t gotten hurt. Not until the very end of her Games, when the District 4 boy had tried his best to kill her. Perhaps that’s why Victoree had eliminated Pike so early on. Whether she admitted it or not, she felt a heavy unease towards the fishing district. But they didn’t stand in her way anymore. This was _her_ Hunger Games, not Crystal’s. She would make it out of here, _and_ with all of her perfect, pearly white teeth.

The odds were in Victoree’s favor. Well, they always were, but now even more so. Taking out two Careers wouldn’t be too difficult, and the other districts were nothing more than child’s play. A Career not winning was an exceptional event in the Hunger Games. After all, over half of the last 41 Games produced a victor from District 1, 2, or 4. This year would be no different. Victoree would be sitting across from Caesar during the recap, her wretched appearance corrected by the best stylists that the Capitol had to offer. She would laugh flirtatiously as the host commended her performance in the 42nd Hunger Games. 

_Not much longer, now..._

“Correct,” she said, finally acknowledging Flint. “Only three more to go, big guy.”

The hovercraft was coming. Victoree grabbed the brutish District 2 tribute to get him away from Quay’s mutilated body. 

“Just let it _go,_ ” she said impatiently, revolted by Flint’s weird obsession with his kill. 

Victoree could murder just like any other Career. It was fun in the moment, mainly because she knew how much attention she was getting. It made her feel powerful. But the aftermath of a kill felt empty and boring, very unlike the blunted emotions she felt during the rush of it all. 

Flint was different, though, He wouldn’t stop staring at the tributes he killed, leaning next to them as if he was admiring some sort of sick masterpiece. 

_Maybe he’s crazy,_ Victoree thought. 

After the bloodbath, Pike and Selene practically had to drag Flint away from the deceased District 5 girl. He just sat there, staring at her unseeing eyes. It was very bizarre. 

Victoree knew that ruthlessness didn’t win the Hunger Games. Maybe people would be shocked to hear that, but it was the reality of it all. The only way to win this competition was to be ruthless _and_ appealing. Without Capitol appeal, a tribute was doomed. 

_That_ is why she hated the District 12 boy with all of her being. _He_ had Capitol appeal, even if he was small and ugly. His nose was crooked and weird, something that would’ve ostracized him immediately in District 1. The pathetic weakling couldn’t fight for shit. He couldn’t use a weapon even if his life depended on it. Which, luckily, it did. The District 7 boy, conversely, had ruthlessness but no Capitol appeal. He was the direct inverse of Copper. 

Flint, on the other hand, was attractive and ruthless. Unluckily for him, though, he couldn’t keep a conversation going. If, in some twisted dimension, he became the winner, everyone would get bored of him. He was simply eye-candy and nothing more.

Victoree, though? _She_ was ruthless _and_ appealing. Unfortunately, Cyan was as well, but his ruthlessness seemed to be on the decline. While Victoree knew she probably didn’t look her best at the moment, the image of her that the Capitol people were introduced to would not soon be forgotten. 

“Come on,” she said to Flint, relieved that the bodies of their latest kills had finally been scooped up. There was no reason for them to stay there. “Let’s find our little friend from District 12. The District 6 girl was screaming for him, so he can’t be too far away.”

.

.

.

Cerritulus peaked at the screen through his fingers, his underarms drenched in sweat. What he had just witnessed was violence that could rival the initial bloodbath at the start of the Games. It was no wonder that Copper had fainted. And now, the District 1 girl was saying that their next target was him. 

To the silvery escort’s relief, the two Careers set off in the wrong direction, calling out to Copper like two innocent children searching for a lost puppy. 

“Wake up, Copper,” Cerritulus whispered, extending a hand out to touch the screen in front of him. 

Copper was still slumped next to the tree, his eyes shut. Perhaps the calling of his name would rouse the boy from his trauma-induced slumber. Cerritulus could only hope. 

.

.

.

Copper opened his eyes. The cold forest came into focus around him as he shrugged off the remaining dizziness that had engulfed him what felt like minutes before. 

But it hadn’t been minutes. The towering trees around him weren’t as visible, and the minimal snow on the ground was turning blue as the sun sunk over the horizon. It must have been hours since he had passed out. 

The boy stood up gingerly, scared that moving too quickly would result in another unwilling nap. It wasn’t like he was hurt, after all. At least physically. 

He snuck a glance at the clearing where he had witnessed the death of Volant and the beginning of Quay’s. Nobody was there, but the distinct darkness of blood was dyed into the snow in random patches. 

_Where did Victoree and Flint go?_ he wondered. It was a miracle that they hadn’t found him as well. There wasn’t a more vulnerable position he could’ve been in. Maybe the Careers had turned in the wrong direction to search for him?

The anthem began to play, causing Copper to instinctively turn to the sky, though he already knew who would be depicted amongst the clouds.

The face of Quay appeared first, not to Copper’s surprise. She was stony-faced and dark-eyed.

Copper braced himself, almost hoping that Volant wouldn’t be next. Maybe his eyes had been playing tricks on him. Maybe Leif was really going to appear, and Volant was somehow safe and sound.

He was wrong. But of course he was. Volant was glaring down at him from the sky, her look almost accusing. She seemed more annoyed than any tribute he had seen amongst the stars so far. She really had been true to herself until the very end, hadn’t she?

He thought about the girl pulling him from the glacial water in the cave, seemingly untouched by the icy depths. She had saved him from dying, and he hadn’t done the same for her. Volant had perished right before Copper’s very eyes, her last words being his name.

 _“COPPER!_ **_COPPER!_** _”_ she had shrieked in desperation, almost breathless during her showdown with Victoree.

The tears began to well up in Copper’s eyes as Volant’s image faded forever from the sky, her departure from this earth only more finalized. 

In the next moment, Copper was touching three fingers to his lips, and pointing them towards where Volant’s projection had just been. 

“You’ll never be in pain again, Volant,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t s-save you. I am eternally grateful to you for saving me.”

And then, despite everything, he collapsed back onto the ground, drifting off to sleep. If Victoree and Flint, or Leif, or even Cyan found him now, then so be it. 

.

.

.

He awoke to the sound of trumpets. 

_What is going on?_ he thought groggily. Weren’t trumpets played when someone won the Hunger Games?

A jolt of hope shot through Copper’s stomach. Did he win the Games? Did everyone else somehow die overnight, while he was asleep?

 _“Good morning tributes!”_ a voice called out from everywhere at once. _“I do hope that I didn’t scare any of you!”_

Copper’s heart sank. Of course it had been too good to be true. Of course he wasn’t the only one left. 

_“I would like to announce that there will be a very special event held, and you all are invited! Tonight, when the sun sinks below the horizon, a feast will be held at the Cornucopia. This is a celebration of sorts to congratulate you for making it this far. There will be food, fun, and excitement!”_

Copper snorted. _Fun?_

 _“I hope that you all can come join us,”_ the announcer continued, his voice taking a more demanding edge. “ _Some of you are very hungry, and this might just be your last chance to get some food...Before the storm, that is!”_

“The storm?” Copper questioned aloud. 

What storm? He could only imagine what the Gamemakers had in store for them, then. To give tributes insight to upcoming terrors in the arena was very uncommon, and maybe even totally unheard of. 

His first reaction was to ignore the broadcast and just search for food on his own. After all, there were plenty of blueberry bushes nearby. In fact, he was feeling a little hungry now that the initial fear of Victoree and Flint being nearby seemed to have subsided a little.

Feasts were always used as a way to bring the last few tributes together for another bloodbath. Copper was surprised that it was happening already, with all the bloodshed that had occurred yesterday. But the Games had been going on for a while now...maybe two weeks? It was getting closer to ending them. The Games usually lasted anywhere from a week to a month, though the former was much less common. He supposed that it was more fun to drag it out and leech as much entertainment from the suffering of the tributes as possible.

 _Five of us left, that’s it,_ Copper thought. 

_Yes, five,_ the survivalist mimicked, though not with deprecation this time. _Maybe you can make it out of this._

When he reached the blueberry bushes, his mouth parted in shock. They were all wilted and dead, a purposeful action from the Gamemakers to no doubt strong-arm him into attending the feast.

He _was_ hungry.

 _Maybe the others won’t show up,_ he thought half-heartedly, thinking briefly about having a table of delicious Capitol food all to himself. _After all, they’re all skilled with weapons and can probably hunt with ease._

But if the blueberry bushes were sabotaged, surely any animals had been removed by the Gamemakers as well, right? The woods were eerily quiet, like the presence of all life had been drained completely from them.

Maybe the feast wouldn’t be worth it anyway. Last year, the tributes had to fight over a single bowl of cold soup. It wasn’t worth it at all, but the District 5 girl hadn’t realized that until it was too late. 

But other years...Copper could recall the table rising from the ground in front of the Cornucopia, its contents bountiful and excessive. Maybe the feast would be like that this year...

His mouth began to water just envisioning it. Hunger distorted his rationale, bringing instinct to the forefront of this mind. 

_I can at least make my way in the direction of the Cornucopia,_ he thought.

The survivalist gave him grief for this, but Copper had already anticipated a rough scolding.

 _Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get an arrow shot through your head or a sword plunged through your heart,_ it said.

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**Author's Note: Eee, things are about to get interesting...even though only 5 tributes remain, this story isn't really close to being over. As always, pleaaase comment/review or even leave a kudos ;).**


	32. The Funeral

Rain battered down onto Scarlet Fall’s shoulders as she watched them lower her sister into the ground. A mixture of tears and water ran across her face, icy droplets soaking through the dark clothing that she wore. The day her sister left them was forever burned into her mind.

_Suddenly, the birds fell silent. The red-headed boy still sat there, sniffling and staring into space, his gaze fixated on nothing at all. Slowly, gently, Adeline was lifted into the hovercraft. Then, it vanished. Copper was alone, and the birds resumed their song._

The cemetery was filled with battered umbrellas and mining helmets. It seemed as if the entire district was there, although Scarlet knew that couldn’t be true. Even so, she felt an immense gratitude to the men who stood around her, paying their final respects to the fallen tribute girl— to _Adeline_ , before they set off for a day in the mines. 

The casket shocked her. Scarlet had grown used to seeing the plain, wooden boxes being dropped off after the District 12 children died in the Hunger Games. The Peacekeepers would plop the crates onto the ground in front of the families of the deceased tributes, not even giving them a second glance. It was almost like they were delivering the morning milk. There was no emotion to the action, no empathy present in the darkened visors of the Peacekeepers. 

But Adeline’s had been different. The white-uniformed soldiers seemed puzzled by the ornate flowers drawn upon it in vibrant colors, all over a layer of white paint that masked the fact that the girl’s final resting place was a flimsy box. 

_Who did this?_ Scarlet wondered, still mesmerized. _Someone out there, presumably from the Capitol, really did care about Adeline…_

Beatrice wouldn’t cry. Copper didn’t cry when Adeline was dying, after all. At least barely. Crying would make it real. She watched the muddied dirt being shoveled over the casket, the flowers becoming splattered with it. Mr. Fall and her father were burying the girl. Would they be doing the same thing soon, only this time, to Copper?

The thought was too much for Beatrice to handle. She swayed slightly, tears clinging to her eyelashes. She told herself that they weren’t tears. It was only rainwater. Nobody would be able to tell the difference. It was eerie how the weather was mimicking the conditions in the arena of the 42nd Hunger Games.

Adeline had realized that she was dying. She told Copper that he had to win for her. Scarlet wondered what it felt like. What was the last thing that crossed her mind before she let go? Did she think of her, her sister? Did she think about Copper? Of course she had thought about Copper. The boy had loved her. Maybe not in the way a boyfriend loves a girlfriend, or a husband loves a wife, but it was love all the same. 

_Copper bent down to kiss the girl’s forehead, his entire body trembling. “I love you, Adeline.”_

_“I l-love you too, Copper,” Adeline replied. “When you win, I’ll be watching. You were the best friend I could’ve ever asked for.”_

Maybe Adeline had embraced death, grateful that the pain of the arena was finally over. Or maybe she didn’t want to leave, and death had to drag her, kicking and screaming the entire time. It was impossible to tell on the day the girl had passed. Her broken conversation with Copper had been difficult to listen to. 

The Gamemakers just _had_ to kill her. Adeline wasn’t murdered by another child of the districts. She was taken down by the Capitol itself. What many people didn’t realize, though, was that all deaths in the Hunger Games were due to the Capitol. Even the ones that rested in the hands of the Career tributes. But still, it felt like Adeline wasn’t given a proper chance. Her death had been so meaningless, so unnecessary. Anyone in the Games right now could be killed off in the same way that she was. At least tributes were more predictable, and couldn’t be spawned at the touch of a button by the Gamemakers. 

_Cerritulus's silver-nailed hand churned the slips of paper in the bowl like butter. He continued shuffling them for an obnoxiously long amount of time before plucking a single slip from the mass. Smiling disturbingly, the man marched back to the microphone, unraveling the slip of paper agonizingly slowly. The crowd held their breath._

_"Adeline Fall!"_

Adeline Fall was 18-years-old on the day of the Reaping. It was her last one, and Scarlet knew that her name was in that glass bowl more times than was essential. What if a few less slips had been swirled around in the Reaping ball by Cerritulus Forebode? Would some other unlucky girl have been thrown into the arena? Would Adeline still be alive?

 _Stop, Scarlet,_ Adeline’s sassy voice seemed to say, coming out in a drawl. _What’s done is done. I’m not in pain anymore. I was for a moment, but then it was taken away. You must live your life now...even if it’s without me. Anyway, I’ll never really be gone. You know that. I’ll always be here with you, whether you can see me or not._

Adeline wouldn’t want her to be sad. But what was she supposed to do, be happy about all of this? Scarlet couldn’t tell herself what to feel. All she could do was be open and honest with herself, accepting the reality of it all. That’s all that anyone could do.

She wondered how the families of all the other fallen tributes had dealt with it. Maybe she would visit the Donner sweet shop across the way. It had been hard when that family’s daughter, Dottie, had been killed in the Hunger Games. Scarlet wanted to offer support, to say that she was so, so sorry, but it never felt right. The Donners put on an emotionless, brave front, almost as if they didn’t want the pity of anyone else.

Scarlet decided that she was _never_ having children. After Dottie, and Adeline, and now, Copper, had been subjected to the evilness of the Games, there was no question about ever putting someone she loved at risk for this. It simply wasn’t worth it, and it hurt even more since Scarlet had always dreamed about raising a family. 

She thought of Steel. The two had been getting closer, and Scarlet could only hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d pick up her broken pieces and choose to love her. Would he feel the same about having children after seeing his brother become so cracked in the Games?

But, more importantly, would Copper make it home? He was doing so well, far better than any District 12 tribute that Scarlet could remember. Nobody could’ve predicted him making it this far. Copper had something to him, though. Something that had protected the boy for so long, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. It was something rarely seen in the Games, and maybe that’s why it felt so foreign to her. Dottie seemed to have possessed an inkling of it, too, but not in the intense way that Copper did. But this “thing” that Copper had, was it enough to make it to the end? Was it enough to become a victor?

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_**Author's Note: Please comment or review, I'd like to know your thoughts on how the story is progressing!** _


	33. Earned It

_Cyan watched Victoree pull a sword across the boy from District 10’s stomach. He stifled a grimace at the ugly reddish-brown color of the guts spilling out onto the leaves. It wasn’t that he was sensitive to gore. He was a Career, but the cause of his discomfort was Victoree’s retaliation from the unspoken code of the Careers— that you make the bloodbath kills quick; you kill the babies early, so they don’t have to suffer, and then save the ugly kills for later when things would get slow._

Cyan awoke with a start to the sound of trumpets, the nightmare quickly fading into nothingness. 

He listened as the announcer, Claudius Templesmith, boomed about a feast happening at the Cornucopia when the “sun sinks over the horizon.”

To Cyan’s surprise, there was faint, blue light shining down upon him. It was much, much too quiet, and this put him on edge. Back in District 1, during his wilderness and kill tests, there were always birds, or insects, or the wind, or something...but here? There was no sound. 

Cyan shivered, though he wasn’t _that_ cold. The Games were almost over. He was sure that the other districts hated that every other year, a Career tribute won the Games. It had to be frustrating. When a tribute became a victor, his or her district would be provided with food for a year, a resource that District 1 and 2 didn’t even need much. It was a little upsetting, he supposed, that the districts that were really desperate for food were the ones that never got it. Like District 12. 

But even so, it wasn’t the way that everyone thought it was. In the Career districts, the food from a tribute winning the Games was given to the academy. If you signed your son or daughter up for training, then you’d get to have some of this food. The more intensive the program, or the more aptitude your child possessed, the more food you would get. It wasn’t really as great as people probably assumed. The whole process was almost like an unofficial version of tesserae that nobody in District 1 took out. Oh, if only the other districts realized that they _did_ take out tesserae, but in a different way. The Career districts didn’t have a good look. Unless it was the Capitol that was gazing at them. 

He remembered what Asher had said to Victoree’s sister in the moments before she had killed him. The boy’s voice was coming back more hauntingly than ever before.

_“Come to kill me?” Asher asked, his wispy voice jaded and weary._

_Crystal shrugged. “Not if you kill me first.” She proceeded to laugh, knowing fully that the District 12 boy could scarcely leave a scratch upon her._

_“What?” Asher said, just as confused as Cyan was when he watched the Games. He backed further against the boulder, almost as if he was trying to sink into the rock._

_“I won’t kill you until you put up a fight, it’s the honorable thing to do,” Crystal said, a hint of petulance in her voice._

_Asher laughed bitterly, shakily. “Is that how it is?” he said. “Career honor, right? You kill kids and you think that’s honor? Are you that brainwashed?”_

_“I didn’t see your district partner without blood on her hands,” Crystal pointed out, thinking about the District 12 girl smashing a rock pitifully against the boy from 3’s head. Her knuckles were turning white around the handle of her sword. “That boy was only twelve, bleeding out onto the rocks until I killed him mercifully. She let him suffer.”_

_“That's because she had to,” Asher replied, his voice pained. “Bad luck. We got picked. But you? You volunteered. You earned the right to kill them,” he almost sneered, and the minute the words were out of his mouth, Crystal decided that she hated this District 12 rodent. She didn’t work this hard to get told off by some weasel that didn’t even know how to fight._

_She punctured the boy’s abdomen with her sword, thrusting out in a quick motion, sparing the scrawny brat a more gruesome death. The graphic kills would happen later, when people were getting bored. District 12 should be thanking her; she had killed both of its tributes humanely, after all._

Cyan remembered Crystal walking around after that, her smug face replaced by something unreadable. Asher painted the girl out to be a monster. In the recap of the Games, when Crystal was sitting across from a yellow-looking Caesar Flickerman, this scene was never shown. All that they revealed was Crystal killing “the District 12 male tribute,” but never the conversation before. It made sense, though. Asher had torn apart the Games, telling Crystal exactly what the Careers were. Manipulated robots. Had the Capitol been upset with him for that?

Of course they had been. Cyan thought about Asher mentioning Copper in his tribute interview. It was a strange coincidence that Copper had been picked only a few years after his best friend had died in the arena. What were the odds of that? Was there something independent of chance that was working in this situation? Were Asher’s final words taken more seriously than he initially had thought? The one thing that he _did_ notice was that after that year, whenever a tribute would begin to say something even remotely challenging, the footage would cut abruptly away from him or her. 

_“That's because she had to,”_ Asher had said. _“Bad luck. We got picked. But you? You volunteered. You earned the right to kill them.”_

And just like Crystal, Cyan had earned the right to kill the babies, the white-spotted fawns who tottered into the bloodbath, confused and afraid. Flint and Victoree had been so eager, killing rapidly but with maximum pain and damage emitting from their weapons. Even Selene had gone after that drug-addict District 6 boy, messily stabbing him before dealing the final blow. 

That left just him and Quay, but of course they were not innocent. The District 4 girl skewered her trident into the boy from the grain district, her actions quick and calculating. A blood-soaked Flint had skipped over to her after brutally murdering the District 5 girl; he probably was anticipating slowly killing the District 9 boy alongside Quay. But the girl had nothing of it and ended the life of the poor child before he could experience any true pain.

Cyan sighed. His father had never talked about this side of the Games. The side that was mentally draining. All they ever discussed were the alliances, survival, and the best way to make kills in nearly every scenario imaginable. Was this why his dad was so quiet, so blank-faced? Mr. Cordierite didn’t mentor the tributes this year; that had been a task for two other victors from District 1. But had he _ever_ mentored? Cyan thought he could recall times when he was a child in which his father had, but it was difficult to remember. 

Perhaps Mr. Cordierite didn’t _want_ to mentor others. His Hunger Games had been the year with the volcano arena, and the man still hated warm temperatures. Burning his hand on the stove would cause him to grip the back of a kitchen chair a little too hard, his eyes battling some invisible scene that nobody else could see. 

But Cyan knew better. He knew that his father was thinking about the Hunger Games, about the girl from District 9 who melted, quite literally, right in front of him. The burns that his father had sustained had been surgically compensated for, but he still didn’t look the same. The hair on half of his eyebrow would never grow back, and the shiny scarring on his neck would always be there. 

Then why, if Mr. Cordierite had experienced such horrors, had he encouraged Cyan, even forced him to prepare for the Games? It was a perplexing question...one that probably would never be answered. 

Cyan supposed that there were some people who were just too far gone, too far entrapped in the Capitol’s distorted propaganda and unjust practices. It was sad, really. If victors of this brutal competition couldn’t even realize how horrible Panem was, then would they ever truly be free? It was already the 42nd Hunger Games, and Cyan didn’t see any of this stopping any time soon.


	34. The Feast

The 42nd Hunger Games odds board was high up on the wall, surrounded by dozens of Capitol people as they passed by. It no longer looked crowded and confusing, as 19 placeholders were now blank.

_HAPPY 42ND HUNGER GAMES, AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!_

_Victoree Obdurate, District 1: Odds 2-1_

_Cyan Cordierite, District 1: Odds 3-1_

_Flint Lyem, District 2: Odds 3-1_

_Leif Mason, District 7: Odds 7-1_

_Copper Hurst, District 12: Odds 33-1_

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The sun was sinking below the horizon, and Copper had made it to the edge of the woods. The last time he had been here, Adeline and him were running away from the bloodbath. The brightly colored leaves that they had shuffled through were now browning and dead, covered in a frosty layer of ice. For once, it wasn’t raining or snowing. 

_They wouldn’t want some weather to ruin the show, now would they?_

Copper checked his dart gun for the dozenth time, even though he was well aware that the weapon was loaded. He had to be prepared...this was risky. So risky. But he was _so hungry._ He didn’t feel well. It was hard to care about anything else at the moment besides the insatiable growling of his stomach. He didn’t even feel hungry anymore, actually. The pangs had replaced themselves with a cramping, searing pain in his abdomen. 

_Is this what it’s like to be starving?_

The shiny Cornucopia gleamed in the setting sun, daylight’s final rays just barely hitting its metallic surface. The clearing was devoid of life, and the surrounding pedestals looked haunting and two-dimensional to Copper. It felt like years had passed since the tributes of the 42nd Hunger Games had stood upon them. The place almost resembled a graveyard. So many children had died here.

Quite suddenly, a table rose up in front of the mouth of the Cornucopia, and Copper gasped when he saw steam rising off of it. Even from far away, he could tell that there was a substantial amount of food upon it— enough to feed all of the remaining tributes combined. 

He began to salivate just staring at the table. It was so close, almost close enough to smell, but also so far. Was it really worth it? Copper felt his feet moving anyway, his desperation for food overcoming any sort of rationale that he had left.

 _Wait, Copper,_ the survivalist said testily, leading the boy to stop right in his tracks. 

He listened and waited, at least for a few minutes. Nobody was coming. The table remained untouched, but the steam was beginning to fade away. The food was getting cold.

Copper stepped out into the open, inhaling immediately as he expected a tribute to come lunging towards him.

The clearing remained empty.

He paused like a scared rabbit, listening intently for any noises, and then continued toward the Cornucopia, his boots crunching loudly on the icy ground. Copper picked up his pace, then, and dashed ravenously towards the table. 

It had the most luxurious, delicious food that he had ever seen. It reminded him a lot of the train ride on the day of the Reaping. There were sandwiches bursting with smoky meat, thick, creamy stews, crunchy fried chicken, a tray of fruit, several loaves of puffy bread, and a decadent vanilla cake.

Copper had to restrain himself from feasting immediately. He reached out a shaky hand, plucking an apple off the fruit tray and proceeded to pocket it swiftly. Then, he grabbed another. And another. He snagged a loaf of bread and two sandwiches next, shoving them down into his jacket. 

_Stop now, Copper,_ the survivalist whispered. _Don’t take too much, or else they’ll go after you._

He listened, then, taking no more food and turned away from the table. That wasn’t so difficult. He would be back in the woods in just a minute, feasting happily on the food that he had so easily just obtained. Where was everyone, though? Had he been right all along? Were they okay, hunting with their own weapons instead of relying on the feast like he had? 

Something was wrong. Copper’s neck prickled with an eerie, dreadful feeling. This had been far too easy.

_Crunch. Crunch. CRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCHCRUNCH._

Copper whirled around, freezing adrenaline pumping through his depleted muscles. 

_Copper, run!_ the survivalist urged. _Snap out of it!_

But the initial shock had cost Copper valuable time. He stood, quite frozen, like a deer in the headlights as Leif emerged from the tree line. The District 7 tribute sprinted at Copper.

His heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest. It was impossible to take normal breaths; each one came out in short, rapid inhales and exhales. The survivalist continued to shriek at him, its voice almost resembling his mother’s. Or was it Adeline’s voice?

“Copper!”

A deep, husky voice yelled his name. It wasn’t the quiet, monotone one that Copper had heard slither out of Leif’s mouth that day at the chasm. There were two sets of feet crunching against the snow now, both of them headed straight for him. 

Copper barely recognized the tall, hulking figure of Cyan Cordierite as he gained on Leif, a sword clenched in his left hand. The arena hadn’t treated him well either. The boy’s hair was now much longer on the sides, a stark contrast to how closely shaven it was when the Games had begun. 

Leif looked animalistic, his teeth bared as he raced toward Copper— or was it the table of food that was his goal? The vindictive look in his eyes gave Copper the answer he needed, and his limbs finally began to move as he turned and dashed in the opposite direction. 

He found himself scurrying around the Cornucopia, trying to put _something_ between himself and the blood-thirsty District 7 boy. 

But Leif made a sharp turn, avoiding the Cornucopia and the table of food completely. Copper watched, crouched down next to the cold metal, as Cyan pursued him. Leif no longer appeared bloodthirsty and intent on attacking Copper. Now, he looked fearful.

The look on Cyan’s face was one that Copper had only seen a single other time, and that had been on the first day of the Games when Weft had attacked Adeline and him. Maybe Cyan had left Victoree and Flint, effectively destroying the Career pack, but the look upon his face was nothing short of a trained killer. 

However, that determined look upon his face quickly changed to one of pure shock as Leif turned suddenly around, whipping his hatchet through the air at him. Cyan ducked, narrowly missing a fatal blow to the head. 

The District 1 boy was quick to compensate as he adjusted his stance and whipped his sword through the air. Copper picked up the noise of it slicing through the cold breeze immediately, but Cyan had clearly missed his target. 

Leif lunged at him again, but Cyan was better prepared. The sound of metal against metal rang through the empty clearing, causing Copper to cover his ears in fright. 

_Take your hands off your fucking ears!_ the survivalist said. _You aren’t seven-years-old, watching the Games back in District 12. You’re in them, and you need your senses now more than ever!_

Copper lowered his hands from his ears. He watched as Leif went in to attack Cyan again, flinching as the boy almost landed another lethal hit.

 _Don’t flinch, Copper,_ the survivalist said. Did it ever shut up? _He’s a Career._

Cyan flinched as well, but swung his blade in retaliation. Leif didn’t have time to get out of the way. The sword sliced into the boy’s side, and when Cyan pulled it away, the weapon was coated in dark, rusty blood. 

Leif screamed, cringing back in pain as he hit the side of the Cornucopia. Copper backed away further, but he wasn’t able to run. The shock had immobilized him, and he seemed to be stuck in some sort of trance. All the boy could do was watch the fight that was taking place before him.

“Copper, run!” Cyan yelled, still wrestling Leif against the Cornucopia. 

They continued fighting, Leif clearly struggling more than ever due to his fresh wound. 

But then, Cyan’s sword was falling to the ground, and Leif was on top of the District 1 boy. The tables had turned in literally the blink of an eye, and Cyan wasn’t the one who had the upper hand anymore.

This is how the Games were...this is how life was. Things could change in a matter of seconds, and it was impossible to predict. Who would've predicted that Juniper was going to die less than a minute into the bloodbath, her demise at the hands of her fellow district partner? Who could've foreseen Victoree snapping, shoving Pike over the edge of the chasm?

Leif thrust his hatchet down over and over again into the snow, missing repeatedly as Cyan moved his head continuously in the nick of time. Shards of frozen snow flew everywhere with each strike of the weapon.

“Copper…” Cyan said breathlessly, his arms shaking as he tried to throw Leif off him. 

Leif was going to kill him. Just like the mutt had killed Adeline. Just like Quay had killed Volant. But this time, Copper wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines. Cyan may have been a Career, but he was trying to protect him. 

Yes, Cyan had been trained from birth for this. But it didn’t matter. Not to Copper. Not in that moment. 

Copper found himself racing towards the fighting tributes.

It didn’t matter what district Cyan was from, Copper realized. Maybe the people in District 1 were more violent and eager than the citizens of District 12, but they were _all_ prisoners of the Capitol.

Copper felt disconnected from his body as he grabbed Leif by the hood, yanking him pitifully as he attempted to rip the boy away from Cyan. Leif was jerked backwards, dropping his hatchet, and this gave Cyan enough time to grab his sword. 

Tears streamed down Copper’s face as Leif whirled around and punched him. He tumbled to the ground, seeing stars. His dart gun sat in the snow, untouched, several feet away. 

Then, Leif grabbed the collar of his jacket and picked him up with ease, almost as if he was a china doll. Copper felt himself being slammed against the side of the Cornucopia, but he was too disoriented to feel the pain.

Copper braced himself for another blow, but gasped in horror and shock as a blade embedded itself into the District 7 boy’s neck. Blood erupted from a vein, exploding onto the snow like hot rain. Leif squelched hideously, collapsing onto his knees, his hands clawing wildly at nothing at all. He kept trying to yell but was no longer able to make words, instead releasing a sound similar to that of a panicked bird.

Copper sunk down the side of the Cornucopia, his eyes glued to the grotesque sight.

It was too much.

He felt the world darkening, not even fighting the waves of dizziness as he lost consciousness.

.

.

.

**_Author’s Note: Comment, let me know your thoughts!_ **


	35. Alliance

Copper awoke to the familiar _pitter patter_ of rain against his cheek. 

It took him a moment to remember what had happened. The feast. Leif almost killed him, and the District 7 tribute himself had died. Cyan was nearly murdered.

_Cyan._

Copper sat up abruptly, jerking his head around wildly, ignoring the pain in his back. His eyes immediately fixated on Cyan, who sat a few feet away, chewing on a sandwich. The man stared at Copper, mid-chew, before swallowing obnoxiously. 

“Oh! Hi. Are you good?” he asked.

Copper looked underneath him. He had been sleeping on a sleep bag? _Cyan’s_ sleeping bag? What on earth was going on? Why wasn’t he dead? 

Cyan rummaged through his backpack, removing a sandwich and holding it out to Copper.

“You should eat this,” he said, still staring straight at the stunned District 12 tribute. “I didn’t steal all this food from the feast for nothing. Poor Victoree and Flint, I left nothing for them!”

“Where are we?” Copper demanded. There were large boulders everywhere. They had to be near where Adeline had...been attacked. “Where is the Cornucopia?”

Cyan had taken another bite. He chewed obnoxiously before swallowing just as loudly. “Oh, I carried you away from that place. It wasn’t safe. Victoree and Flint would’ve been there at any second. I’m kind of surprised they weren’t there from the get-go. I guess they had...other priorities.”

Copper’s eyes widened. He felt himself turning red as he looked away from the boy. So, _everyone_ had seen Cyan _carry_ him here? What did Cerritulus think? And Livia? And his family? This couldn’t be real. No, it just couldn’t. 

_I’m not so sure this is real, either,_ the survivalist admitted. 

“Is this yours?” Copper asked, motioning to the sleeping bag below him. 

“Yeah, I figured you might need something soft to lie down on. All you had with you was your dart gun.”

_The dart gun!_

Copper instinctively felt his jacket pocket. The weapon wasn’t there.

“Where-”

“It’s here,” Cyan interrupted, removing the dart gun from his backpack and holding it out to him.

Copper took it and immediately checked to see if the darts were still inside. They were.

“So you’ll take your weapon, but not food?” Cyan said, chuckling.

Copper glanced up at the District 1 boy timidly. His green eyes twinkled in the early morning light, and his slightly crooked smile was very...alluring. 

He took the sandwich, but not to appease Cyan. The hunger that Copper had felt the day prior had only intensified, but not by much. Perhaps it hadn’t exponentiated because he was so nervous, being in the presence of a Career. Fear was the best appetite suppressant, apparently. Maybe the Capitol people should take note, since they always seemed to be obsessing over weight loss regimens. 

Copper chewed ravenously, barely even tasting the sandwich. He needed to leave after this meal. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been killed yet.

After finishing the entire thing in less than a minute, Copper stood up, ignoring the immediate stomach pain that followed. Cyan stood up too, not taking his eyes off of him. But Copper noticed that his gaze seemed to ricochet between his eyes and his _hair._

It was just like that day in the Training Center, which felt like a lifetime away. Cyan had looked at Copper like he was some sort of accessory. Not very surprising, especially since District 1 produced luxury goods. 

_Maybe District 1 people really are obsessed with bright things, Copper had thought, twirling a lock of his hair nervously._

“Where are you going?” Cyan asked, confused. 

“Um,” Copper began, already trudging away. “Somewhere.”

It sounded so pathetic. _Somewhere?_ But he couldn’t stay here. No, not in the general vicinity where Adeline had died. It was too much. Cyan hadn’t tried to kill him, so maybe he didn’t plan on doing it yet? Maybe he wanted to drag it out, give the audience a show. Sort of like how Victoree was with Volant.

He kept walking, praying that the District 1 tribute wouldn't follow him. 

Why wasn’t Cyan with Victoree, anyway? It made zero sense that he had abandoned the Career alliance. What had he said to Copper only moments ago?

_“It wasn’t safe. Victoree and Flint would’ve been there at any second. I’m kind of surprised they weren’t there from the get-go.”_

Cyan hadn’t been with them for a while, though. Overhearing Victoree’s little speech to Flint whilst hiding behind a log with Volant and Pascal had confirmed that some time ago. 

_It’s not worth analyzing, Copper,_ the survivalist sighed, impatient. _Just get away from Cyan, and get somewhere safe...or, somewhere that isn’t ridden with dangerous Career tributes. Nowhere is safe here, especially now._

The survivalist was right. Everyone left was a Career tribute...except for Copper. 

How on _earth_ was he still living? It was some sort of miracle, that was for sure. 

_No, it isn’t a miracle,_ a different voice said. 

Copper hadn’t heard _that_ since the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, when he had made the decision to dive into the fray to protect Adeline, regardless of the outcome. 

...But surely it _was_ a miracle that he had made it this far, wasn’t it? District 12 tributes _never_ made it this far. Could it be possible that he wasn’t as powerless as he had believed?

Copper glanced behind him, his heart sinking as he saw Cyan following him, the tall boy exaggeratedly tip-toeing amongst the boulders. All for the audience, no doubt.

The blonde Career grinned sheepishly as Copper’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you following me?”

Cyan stopped his tip-toeing, and in several short strides, he made it to Copper. He stared down at him, his arms crossed, the grin still plastered to his perfect little face. 

“Look,” Copper said, taking a shuddering breath. “If you want to kill me, then just do it now. Stop dragging it out. I don’t want to play this game. I refuse to play anyone’s games.”

Cyan reached down and touched Copper’s shoulder lightly. 

“That’s not it,” he said, his grin turning into a frown. The boy looked almost offended.

Copper recoiled from the touch, reacting as if Cyan had stung him. 

He glared up at the blonde Career. 

“Then what _is_ your reason?” his voice was cold. He was afraid. But Cyan, and everybody else watching right now would never know that. 

.

.

.

 _“Then what is your reason?”_ Copper said, swaying clumsily as he put his hand on a boulder to steady himself.

Cerritulus couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. 

“He’s afraid,” he murmured to Livia.

.

.

.

Cyan’s frown turned upside down, breaking into a grin. There they were again, those brilliantly white, if not slightly crooked, teeth. 

“I was hoping that you’d stay with me. We could be allies...and friends. All that, you know?”

Copper was shocked. He hadn’t expected that. Cyan wanted to team up with _him?_ It made absolutely no sense. 

“I’m lonely! I need company,” Cyan said, pouting, almost as if he had read Copper’s mind. He then put his hands into fists beneath his chin and widened his eyes, like he was trying to look innocent or something.

It didn’t work. The blood stained sword sort of threw off whatever vibe he had been going for. 

“Oh,” Cyan continued, ignoring Copper’s gaping mouth. “And you probably need protection from the big scawy Careers.”

Fire flared within Copper. How _dare_ Cyan act as if he was doing some sort of service to him, stalking him like a bloodthirsty mutt?

All of the districts might’ve been prisoners of the Capitol, but District 1 had done _unspeakable_ things to District 12. They had killed Dottie and Cinder.

They had killed _Asher_.

“I don’t need _anything_ from _you,”_ he spat, almost shocked at his sudden bravery. “I’m not falling for this stupid act.”

He turned and continued walking.

“I know why you’re mad,” Cyan began, his gravelly voice taking on a softer edge. “I… I know what she did to him. And I’m sorry. But I’m not like her.”

This stopped Copper dead in his tracks. What was he _talking_ about?

 _It’s just bullshit, Copper,_ the survivalist said, urging him onward.

“I know that boy a few years ago was your best friend.”

Copper turned, meeting the boy’s green eyes. His golden arena jacket almost glowed, even in the overcast morning light. 

“I…” Copper began. But the words fell short. He didn’t know what to say.   
  


“I know that you hate me because of Asher.” 

Cyan’s words cut into Copper, making the memories force themselves back up like vomit. They flooded across his vision, blocking out everything else with their intensity. 

_“Asher Undersee!” the escort squealed gleefully._

_Copper stood next to his best friend in the 14-year-olds section._

_No. No. NO! Not Asher. It had to be a mistake. A horrible, wretched mistake…_

_Copper clung to him when he was called, and he wouldn't let go._

_Asher pried the boy's hands off of him, merciless, his head held high._

_It’s okay,” he said to Copper, tears forming in his pale blue eyes._

_Then he headed bravely to the stage._

_Never to come back again._

Copper jerked back to reality. Cyan was looking at him worriedly. 

“Copper?”

He felt the tears brewing. Oh, no. He wouldn’t cry. There was no way he would cry. 

“Alright,” Copper said instead, ignoring Cyan’s mention of Asher. “We can be allies. But if you try to pull anything on me, just know that I have my dart gun, and I’m not afraid to use it!”

Cyan smiled. “Yes!” he said, raising his fist into the air. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, Inferno-Boy.”

Copper frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay. Sorry, I didn’t know you disliked it.”

He then crossed over to Copper so that they were side-by-side. 

Copper continued walking, reluctant to keep pace with his new ally. That’s what Cyan had said, right?

_“We could be allies...and friends.”_

Friends.

 _Ha!_ the survivalist said. _You don’t believe that, now do you, Copper? You’re a smart boy._

Copper admitted that Cyan’s words were strange and suspicious, but the boy’s actions told a different story. It didn’t make sense that he would carry Copper all the way here, then let him sleep on his own sleeping bag, and _then_ feed him from his own precious food supply just to have a malevolent intention.

.

.

.

Eventually, they reached the area where Adeline had died. 

Copper braced himself for the flashback, desperate to conceal his pain from Cyan. 

But Adeline was already speaking, her voice weak. _“It got me,”_ she breathed, her voice catching in her throat. 

_“Don’t be stupid. You’ve done enough for me. More than enough.”_ The image of a tear sliding down the girl’s ashen cheek invaded his mind. _“You’re going to win, aren’t you?”_

 _“Just promise me, Copper,”_ she gasped again, her voice clearer than ever. _“That you’ll win for Asher. For your family. And, and for m-me.”_

_“Don’t cry, Copper. I hate to see you cry.”_

Copper didn’t notice that he was losing balance until he felt Cyan’s strong arm steadying him.

“Are you okay?” the Career asked. 

Copper nodded. “I’m fine. This is just...this is where she died.” He didn’t push Cyan away this time.

“Adeline?”

All he could do was nod in response.

“Oh...okay. I’m sorry.”

Copper shook off the memories. He sat down on the rock, and Cyan did the same.

“Here, you should drink some water,” Cyan said, handing his own bottle to Copper. “Wouldn’t want you to get dehydrated from those tears leaking from your eyes.”

He then reached out and wiped one of them away with his thumb.

Copper suppressed the urge to slap him.

“Don’t touch me without asking, please,” he said instead, reddening. He wasn’t used to being assertive like this. 

Cyan looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Ok. I was just trying to help, but you’re right. I’ll ask next time.”

Several moments passed. 

“Weft almost killed Adeline and I in the bloodbath,” Copper said quietly. 

Cyan turned his head back to him, looking intently at the District 12 boy. “The District 8 guy?”

Copper nodded.

“Yeah,” Cyan said. “Yeah, he did. But I saved you guys.”

“Why did you?”

Copper hadn’t planned on asking that question, but it tumbled out of his mouth before the survivalist had time to even advise against it. 

Cyan stared into the distance, his hair blowing slightly in the chilly breeze.

“It was just,” he began, before pausing. He sighed. “I can’t explain it. I can’t show you what I saw from my own perspective. You looked so scared, and I saw your insane dash through the bloodbath.”

“So?” Copper prodded.

“So,” Cyan continued, licking his lips while he tried to find the right words. “I got mad seeing someone taller and stronger attacking you when you were so...helpless.”

“I was not helpless!”

But he had been. Copper was the most helpless tribute of them all back on that fateful day. Right?

 _Wrong,_ the other voice said. Who was this other voice? The existentialist in him, maybe?

“Well, I just wanted to protect you,” Cyan replied, clearly trying to say the right thing. 

Copper let him.

“Thank you.”

Cyan looked down at him, that sheepish grin returning. Copper felt something stir within him. Something that he would’ve forbidden himself to feel before.

.

.

.

_**I** 'll do whatever it takes  
To turn this around  
I know what's at stake  
I know that I've let you down  
And if you give me a chance  
Believe that I can change  
I'll keep us together  
Whatever it takes _

_Whatever It Takes,_ Lifehouse

_**Author's Note: Comment :)** _


	36. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I read the short excerpt released from The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes , the Hunger Games prequel that is being released on May 19th, 2020. I found it sort of interesting that District 11 was considered really strong in the first Games. Also, I believe that the District 12 girl who Snow mentors in the Games is the first victor from 12. Katniss mentions that the only victors besides Peeta and her are Haymitch and a victor who was deceased by the 74th Hunger Games. Also, the Capitol Amphitheater was the site of some of the first Games after the Dark Days. So that is canon too.

Copper was making it far enough to secure himself yet another sponsor gift. Even with the odds stacked against him (20-1, at this point), he still had quite the number of admirers in the Capitol. 

To think that just yesterday, his odds had been 33-1…

Cerritulus had just gotten back from a long conversation with a particularly wealthy Capitol woman. Clemensia. She helped him secure the necessary funds to send a sleeping bag into the arena for Copper.

It was getting colder and colder in the environment of the 42nd Hunger Games, and Cerritulus didn’t want Copper relying on the District 1 boy for anything. Anyway, Cyan Cordierite’s sleeping bag was flimsy and small. The harsh elements that were soon to come would surely pierce through it, rending the entire thing useless.

Cerritulus didn’t know for sure just how cold the arena was going to get, but it would be approaching peak lows soon. The temperature had slowly been decreasing the entire time, mirroring the transition from fall to winter. 

_“What a beautiful arena,”_ the teenage Caesar Flickerman had said, sitting next to the equally young Claudius Templesmith. 

It _was_ beautiful, and nowhere near as horrendous as past arenas had been. Cerritulus shuddered as he thought of the Capitol Amphitheater. Though now dilapidated, it had served as the site of the first 10 or so Hunger Games. Back then, the Capitol people avoided watching the Games. It had been hard, initially, getting them to become interested in children killing children, and District 12 kids dropped like flies.

That is, until President Snow had mentored the District 12 girl. It was so long ago, and Cerritulus had only heard stories about that Games. The following year, a strong, curly-haired girl called Mags from District 4 emerged victorious. There was a pattern that was emerging, even back then. The better-fed District 1 and 2 tributes did well in the Games, and the trades of District 4 and 11 made contenders from those districts strong as well. My, how the tables had turned for 11 over the years.

Maybe Copper would be like that District 12 girl. The odds had certainly been stacked against her, but she had emerged victorious nonetheless, being crowned the winner of the 10th Hunger Games.

However, Copper being allied with Cyan worried Cerritulus. District 1 was obnoxious and cruel. They didn’t care about the kids in the other districts. It was easy for them to cut down those who had once been their allies during the first rebellion against the Capitol.

But it wasn’t unheard of for Career tributes to ally themselves with those from other districts, granted that the outsiders were able to prove themselves, showing some sort of exceptional skill that they could bring to the pack.

Copper didn’t really have that. He was exceptional, and Cerritulus didn’t have a single doubt in that regard in his mind. But the Careers surely wouldn’t be able to realize that. The kind of exceptional that Copper was simply wasn’t what the Careers cared about...but maybe they should. After all, Selene, Pike, and Quay were dead while Copper was still alive. 

A long time ago, before the first Quarter Quell, a District 1 boy _did_ ally himself with a seemingly “useless” tribute from one of the upper districts. A freckled red-headed girl from District 9. Cerritulus remembered that they came across one another after the Career pack had mostly dissolved— literally, since that was the year with the volcano arena. 

They formed a special sort of relationship that was unprecedented in the Games. Cerritulus remembered the boy sharing his generous sponsor supply with the girl, who hadn’t been able to secure anything herself. It was really sweet, watching him care for her like that. They cared for each other. She pulled him out of the way of a flowing stream of magma, but his neck still suffered a major burn.

In the end, the lava came for her, and she died a horrific death just like many others from that Games. The District 1 boy held her hand while she died, even though in doing so, the lava burned through his flesh.

But he was crowned the victor shortly after, the final tribute burning to death right before he could attack. 

.

.

.

_Beep beep, beep beep._

Copper looked instinctively up. The sun was setting, and they were finally nearing the woods. He’d never have to see those boulders again. 

Even in the half-light, he clearly saw the outline of a parachute lurching towards him in the windy twilight. Was it a gift for Cyan?

“It’s probably for you,” he said, motioning to the parachute as it latched itself onto a nearby rock. 

Cyan said nothing, and instead approached the gift. The number “12” was clearly adorned on the large, metallic pod. 

“No,” he said, pointing to the number. “It says twelve. It’s yours, Copper.”

_Oh! What could it be?_

Copper bent down and clicked open the sponsor gift. To his amazement, a thick, shiny bundle rolled out. 

He held it up, trying to get a better look. Was it some sort of blanket?

No, it was a sleeping bag. A _very_ nice, clearly water-resistant sleeping bag. 

“Wow!” he said, turning around to wave the item at Cyan, almost as if he was a small child showing a parent his new toy. 

“Ooo,” Cyan entertained, crossing his arms in pretend jealousy. “That’s one nice sponsor gift.”

Copper nodded in awe. “I’m... I’m shocked I got it,” he said, not bothering to mask his true self to Cyan. “I assumed I was done with getting gifts.”

“I haven’t gotten anything since I left the other Careers,” Cyan said. “I guess that stunt didn’t play so well with the audience.”

It had been detrimental then, that Cyan had cut ties with Victoree and company. Copper still couldn’t understand why he had done it. But right now wasn’t the time to ask. He was tired. So much had happened today, from the Career proposing an alliance, to reliving memories of Adeline and Asher. It was a lot to handle.

“It’s getting dark,” he said, motioning to the cloudy sky. “Let’s go into the woods. I don’t like being out in the open. I think it would be better to sleep under the trees.”

Cyan smirked. “Okay, Inferno-B— I mean, Copper.”

Copper pretended he didn’t hear that first part as they trekked into the woods. Something felt different. With every step he took, Copper realized how _cold_ he felt.

“The temperature is dropping rapidly,” Cyan remarked, his breath coming out in a swirl of fog. “Like, a degree a second.”

They sat down beneath a particularly large pine tree. Its branches extended close to the ground, offering the perfect cover from anyone who may be around. Unfortunately, though, it did nothing to buffer the cold.

“So,” Copper began, trying to sound nonchalant. “Who gets the first watch?”

Those _stupid_ green eyes gazed back at him, a knowing look dancing in them. Cyan could see right through him.

But, all he said was, “You just go to sleep. I can handle watch duty tonight.”

“But won’t you get tired?” he asked. 

Cyan grinned. “Don’t worry about me. I still plan on sleeping. I’m just a very, _very_ light sleeper.”

Copper knew it wasn’t fair to make him keep watch the entire night, but it was probably going to be a losing battle if he protested. 

“Well, okay,” he said, and then began unravelling his sleeping bag. 

Cyan draped his own, paper-thin sleeping bag around himself before sitting up against the tree’s trunk. 

Copper needed a nice, long sleep…

...But he wasn’t getting it.

The woods were growing darker, and Copper only felt colder by the second. He shivered involuntarily, exhilarated by the intense drop in temperature.

 _Without this sleeping bag, I’d surely die,_ he thought. 

Perhaps that’s why Cerritulus had sent it to him. Initially, the gift had seemed like a wonderful thing to give him more comfort during his final days in the arena.

But now...Copper could see that without it, he would be dead. Cerritulus had sent it to him to keep him alive. 

To make matters worse, the painful _flick_ of icy raindrops began to rebound off of his face, sending horrible chills down his spine. He looked over at Cyan. The Career was still sitting next to the trunk of the tree, but this time, he was shivering violently. 

Copper was taken aback by the sight. A big, hulking Career, _shivering_ like that? He was muscular and tall— didn’t that make him impervious to cold?

 _No, you idiot,_ the survivalist said.

 _Um, yeah, he’s right,_ the existentialist said. _Cyan is a human being just like you. He gets cold, feels pain, and goes through the same stuff you go through. This is the Hunger Games. Nobody gets out unscathed._

Copper felt a twinge of guilt at letting Cyan sit outside, his hair becoming plastered with rain. This was dangerous. He could die, if exposed to the elements for too long. 

_So what?_ the survivalist challenged.

 _He’s your ally,_ the existentialist countered. _And he’s cold._

The rain picked up. Copper felt the tiny droplets pelting his sleeping bag ferociously, even with the tree providing them with some protection from the storm.

He knew he was being selfish, hogging the sleeping bag all to himself. What had he and Beatrice always promised one another? They said that if they ever entered the Games, they would do the right thing, no matter what the cost was. 

Copper had failed at doing the right thing far too many times. He hadn’t been able to save Adeline, or Volant, or Pascal.

But he _had_ risked his life for Adeline at the initial bloodbath. And he killed Annua to protect her.

No, he wasn’t perfect, and he knew that. But now was another opportunity to do the right thing, and he wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

 _You’re being crazy,_ the survivalist said.

But he sat up in his sleeping bag anyway. The sudden movement caused Cyan to turn and look at him, his hair plastered to his forehead. 

Even in the darkness, Copper could make out those green eyes perfectly. This time, though, they looked...desperate. Almost pleading, and not in the superficial way that Cyan liked to endorse. 

“Um,” he began, nodding down to the sleeping bag. “You can, uh,” he took another shuddering breath. “If you want.”

Even though his speech had been unintelligible, Cyan clearly understood what he meant. His face took on a different expression. One that was stunned and grateful.

“Really?”

All Copper could do was nod.   
  


It was the selfless thing to do. Perhaps nobody watching would understand, but the arena brought out a different side of Copper. This side was kind and selfless, and that was very contradictory to what the Capitol expected of a tribute. Letting someone freeze wasn’t something he was capable of doing, whether they were a Career or not. 

Cyan clambered into the sleeping bag, his gigantic frame taking up a lot more space than Copper had anticipated. The inside wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, it was very, very warm, despite the fact that Cyan was soaked. 

Copper felt uncomfortable. He turned away, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the Career. Oh, everyone from District 12 would be cursing at him now. District 1 tributes always killed District 12 kids, and now he was _protecting_ one. 

_They’ll be talking about you everywhere,_ the survivalist said. _Copper Hurst, the measly District 12 boy who somehow won over a Career. How touching._

But it _did_ feel rather nice. Copper wasn’t cold anymore, and judging by Cyan’s cease in shivering, he wasn’t either. 

_Your odds are better, now,_ the survivalist continued. _And Pascal’s prediction about Capitolites loving a doomed love story isn't far-fetched by any means. I guess I was wrong...I guess you did the right thing after all._

But Copper knew he had done the right thing. It wasn’t “right” in the way that the survivalist coined it to be. It was right because it had been selfless and kind, not because it gave him a better edge in this year’s Games. He was still going to die. All of his competitors were Careers.

Cyan’s rough voice, close to his ear, snapped him out of his argument with the survivalist. “Hey,” he whispered, his hot breath sending shivers down Copper’s spine. 

“What?” Copper replied, not turning around. 

“Thanks.”

.

.

.

 _“Thanks,”_ the Career boy said gruffly, before closing his eyes.

The District 12 square was silent as they stared at the screen. It was dark now, and mandatory viewing had ended a half hour ago. 

What on _earth_ was going on? What was their tribute boy _thinking?_

“It’s kind of sweet, I guess,” Beatrice said, motioning to the projector in their home. 

Steel grimaced. “It’s not what I would’ve expected, that’s for damn sure,” he said.

Beatrice smiled. “Cyan isn’t going to hurt Copper. I can tell. He would’ve done that already if he planned on it.”

Steel rolled his eyes. “Beatrice, Careers are trained from birth for this, and Cyan volunteered. Sure, maybe he won’t hurt Copper now, but the end of the Games is coming. What happens if it’s only the two of them left? Do you think he’ll sacrifice himself just to save the poor Inferno-Boy from the shittiest district?”

“I—”

“ _No_ ,” Steel finished for her. “Be smart, Beat.”

.

.

.

_**Author's Note: And that's where I'm stopping for now! Er, unless I get a review or two XD.** _


	37. Volcanic

_Perhaps Mr. Cordierite didn’t_ **_want_ ** _to mentor others. His Hunger Games had been the year with the volcano arena, and the man still hated warm temperatures. Burning his hand on the stove would cause him to grip the back of a kitchen chair a little too hard, his eyes battling some invisible scene that nobody else could see._

.

.

.

“First up, Slate Cordierite,” the interviewer said. “With a score of...10.”

This was before the time of Caesar Flickerman. The current man who did the announcements and tribute interviews wasn’t quite the confident stage presence that would emerge in years to come. It was the 19th Hunger Games— his first Games as an interviewer and commentator. Interviews and training had only recently been added to Game tradition. It was hard to read off the scores and sound excited or charming, particularly when one tribute didn’t do well. This was all an act, being on television. He would get better at it. The tributes certainly did, and they had much less time to put themselves together. 

“And our female from District 9, Maizie Loam, with a score of...6.”

The tributes were in for a treat this year, but only the Gamemakers and important Capitol officials knew that. Gone were the Games that the Capitol people didn’t want to see. The old amphitheater would be preserved as a historic site of the first several Hunger Games in Panem’s dark and lengthy history, but it wouldn’t be used anymore. 

The Gamemakers had been working all year to create a _very_ special arena. Each competition wouldn’t be short any longer. They would last quite a while, in the vast outdoor creations that were being planned. The Quarter Quell blueprint was the most extravagant one yet, but this year’s arena would bring even the most reluctant of viewers to the screen. 

Survival skills were now an element that brought further excitement to the Hunger Games. A tribute couldn’t rely on brute force alone like in past years. Now, tributes from districts like 10 and 12 might stand a better chance. Everyone else, particularly the children from stinking urban places like districts 3 and 8— were even more woefully disadvantaged.

Maizie Loam felt like she was a guinea pig in all of this. Being caught in the crossfire of quickly changing traditions was a difficult pill to swallow. It was bad enough that she had been called at the reaping, but facing an unknown environment for the Games was a scary thought. Some of the past arenas had been...severe. But it was better than the Capitol Amphitheater…

She shuddered thinking about it. There was no place to hide back then. Nowhere to run from your attackers…

And because of that, when Maizie’s pedestal arose into a stifling hot cavern, no complaints crossed her mind. Well, apart from the one about being thrown into this hellhole to begin with.

Going to the Cornucopia wasn’t completely essential anymore. Sure, obtaining a weapon was probably the best way to survive this whole ordeal, but the natural environment could be exploited instead. This seemed like a better option to Maizie, as it would guarantee her survival for a while longer. She would worry about being able to fight back after a substantial amount of tributes were gone.

Then, the gong rang, and the bloodbath began. 

Slate Cordierite cursed as he grabbed a sword, recoiling when it burned him. How were they supposed to use the weapons? Other small tributes around him were grabbing backpacks and fleeing, costing the Careers valuable kills. 

The boy from District 2 resorted to using his hands. He snapped the neck of the District 7 girl like she was a pencil, but it wasn’t the sort of combat that Slate wanted to partake in. This was about honor, not messy fist fights. 

Everything changed when his district partner, Valour, found heat-resistant gloves in one of the crates at the Cornucopia. After sliding them on, Slate realized that he was able to use the sword with no problems, its blaze unable to break through the special fabric.

Killing was easy after that. Well, as easy as such an atrocity could be. The weapon glided effortlessly through the flesh of his first victims that day. It didn’t seem to be losing warmth, either. Was there something inside of it that was providing the sword with a constant radiation of heat?

This was the best outcome that Slate could’ve hoped for. Being struck by something burning hot was quite shocking, and it made his kills freeze up, unable to fight back properly as their minds were permeated with surprise. But things were too easy for the Career pack, and the Gamemakers knew that. It was time to tear their confidence apart. 

On the second day of the Games, the volcano erupted. Most of the tributes who were still alive died at this point, including four Careers. As the District 4 girl was not part of the pack, this left one Career left: Slate Cordierite. 

Maizie Loam was still alive as well, a surprise to many who were hungrily watching the Games. Her foresight had been uncanny; she climbed out of the crater, the mouth of the volcano, almost immediately on that first day. The task was not easy, and there were numerous times when she nearly fell. 

Once outside, Maizie found herself free from any attackers. They were all still battling it out at the bottom of the volcano, she presumed.

The Career pack made their way up towards the top, killing unlucky tributes along the way. Eventually, though, they began to sweat profusely as the temperature skyrocketed.

“What’s going on?” Valour asked. Her forehead was slick with sweat. “It’s so hot.” 

This was no place for a clean, fussy girl like she was. It was so _annoying_ that the Capitol Amphitheater had been abandoned for the Hunger Games. It was so _easy_ to get clean, fast kills back then. Now, the babies from the weak districts could run away and hide, turning this into a long, twisted version of hide-and-seek. Valour hated it. But she relished the violence.

“We’re in a volcano,” Larisa, the District 2 girl, realized with horror, causing the others to stare back at her with equal fear. “We need to get to the top. Now.”

Slate Cordierite was the tallest, and, not surprisingly, the fastest. The lava began to rise, blasting cannons from tributes below them that the pack apparently missed along the way. Then, magma began to erupt on all sides of the Careers. The first jet of burning liquid hit Valour square in the face, melting her skin and bone away as if she were a sugar cube being dissolved in water. 

Larisa screamed as the protective coating on her jacket melted, and she shrugged it off immediately to prevent further damage. “KEEP RUNNING!” she screamed desperately, racing after Slate as her own district partner was pelted with molten substance. 

Slate clawed his way out of the volcano, breathing a sigh of relief as he collapsed next to the vent. Larisa was just behind him when she lost her footing.

“SLATE!” she cried, her brown eyes dancing with fear and hopelessness as she crashed through the air.

“Larisa…” Slate whispered, knowing that any action on his part was surely futile. He looked down into the chasm, bile rising in his throat as he did so. Larisa had plummeted into the dim, and her body was now ablaze as the rising lava consumed her. The girl’s cannon fired.

The magma didn’t stop rising. It was almost too late when Slate turned and ran down the slope of the volcano, painfully aware of the stream of white-hot liquid gaining on him. He could feel his flesh begin to burn. This was it. He was going to die.

But then, an arm shot out from behind a large boulder on the slope, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind it. Slate watched in terror as the lava rushed past the boulder on both sides. A second longer, and he would’ve been consumed by it, just as Larisa had been.

Beside him, the District 9 girl crouched. She wasn’t burned. In fact, she didn’t look hurt at all.

“Wh—,” Slate began, still breathing heavily. 

“Are you going to kill me?” the girl interrupted, staring at him with innocent, beautiful amber eyes. She was clearly very scared. 

Slate didn’t know if she was afraid of the lava that was bubbling around them, or if the fact that he was a Career is what unnerved her.

He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to kill you. You...you saved me. How could I hurt you now? 

The girl shrugged. “Careers don’t exactly use morale to guide their choices.”

Slate agreed, but he didn’t say so. “Why did you do it? Why did you pull me out of the way?”

“Because I know that if I were you, I would’ve hoped that someone may have saved me, too. It was the right thing to do.”

Slate was speechless. This girl...with her curly red hair and meek expression had saved him, a big, brutish Career. It was unfathomable.

“Thank you.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on the girl’s face. “Of course. Thanks for not killing me. I’m Maizie, by the way. District 9.”

Slate found himself smiling a little bit too, but why, he didn’t know. “Slate Cordierite. District 1.”

Maizie nodded, rolling her eyes slightly. “Oh, I know who you are. The big, bad Career from 1. The boy that all these Capitol girls are swooning over. Still glad you volunteered?”

Slate snickered. “No.” 

It wasn’t as grand as he thought it would be. This year was worse than all the others. If it had been _any_ other year, any at all, then maybe Slate would’ve thought otherwise. But this place...this was the worst of them all. This arena would be one of the more memorable ones.

Maizie spoke. “Yeah. I want to go home.” Her tone was somber and bleak.

He looked back up at her. “Me too.”

Almost everyone was gone at this point, and only two days into the Games at that. While eight tributes died in the bloodbath, twelve were killed after the first eruption. Slate would’ve been one of them, too. If it hadn’t been for Maizie. 

Being around her was different from being around the Careers. Maizie talked about beautiful fields of grain stretching for miles in all directions, about the warm sunny days in her district, and about how even at 16, she was so grateful for what life gave her.

“Ever since I turned 12, I made a promise with myself.” she told Slate. 

He stared back at her, mesmerized by the girl’s words. “And what was that promise?” he asked quietly. 

“I promised myself that I would love. And I did. I loved every day. Every plant. Every ray of light. I learned to embrace the bad, and I learned to forgive.”

Slate was moved by Maizie’s verbiage. The way she spoke was ethereal and almost magical. Maizie was thin, malnourished, and from a poor district, yet she still saw the best in things. It made him feel like an idiot for complaining about the trivial matters in District 1. Maybe Maizie was the best thing that could’ve happened to him, here in the land of fire and ash. 

Slate found himself taking comfort in her, and she in him. The Capitol people noticed them, and the pair quickly became the main focus of the remaining tributes in the 19th Hunger Games. The big, blonde, luxurious Career, and the pixie-like redhead from a world of sunny plains. 

There was something about the way they looked at each other…something that developed in just five days. One-hundred and twenty hours that would never, ever be enough. 

Mr. Cordierite didn’t watched his Games. In the interview that followed his victory, he sat still and looked stoically on, avoiding the screen.

“You and Maizie formed a...special sort of bond in the arena,” the interviewer prompted him. “It must have been tough, losing her.”

But what could Slate say? Should he tell the audience about Maizie’s small, quiet smiles, smiles kept only for him? Or the selfless way she grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the reaper just in time? Or the way she talked about District 9?

Should he tell them about how her lips felt against his? How holding her in that burning, disgusting place almost felt like home? 

_“I would have fallen in love with you,”_ Maizie said, her face disfigured from the lava. _“If we’d had more time.”_

 _“More time,”_ Slate repeated back. His voice was hollow.

 _“Don’t cry,”_ Maizie said. _“You’re going to be a victor, Slate Cordierite. So smile.”_

Maizie was the kind, beautiful, strong girl from the grain district.

He held her hand while she died. Even if it hurt. Even if it _burned._ Even if the scars would never fade.

Maizie was gone forever, and the Capitol wouldn’t be getting his memories of their time together. He could never give those up.

Slate swallowed down a swell of fury, forcing himself to stay composed.

“She was a great girl.” he forced out. He could hear the exaggerated sighs from the audience, their sounds digging into him like nails.

And _that_ was why, 23 years later, Mr. Cordierite winced at seeing his son with _another_ kind, redheaded tribute from a poorer district. Cyan was going to get hurt, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	38. Innocence

Copper opened eyes. He was greeted by the icy breeze outside the sleeping bag, the low-hanging branches of the pine tree he was under, and….

The dirt-smudged face of Cyan Cordierite, the District 1 boy, eyeing him groggily.

For a moment, Copper forgot about the previous day’s events. He grappled wildly for his dart gun, all while Cyan shook his head, smirking slightly. 

Then it all came rushing back to him. 

_Oh, right, we’re allies now,_ he thought, turning beat red. 

Cyan spoke. “You’re turning a little red, Copper.”

Copper scowled. “It’s cold out. What do you expect? You’re turning brown, with all that dirt on your face.”

Cyan’s eyes widened, and he rolled them playfully all while wiping his dirty face. “You couldn’t have told me I looked horrible before now, Inferno-Boy? You’re telling me I walked around like this all day yesterday?”

Copper crawled out of the sleeping bag, doing his best to not touch the blonde Career as he did so. “Who cares?”

“Sheesh, and I thought the weather was chilly. But that’s nothing compared to you.”

“I thought I was _fiery_ ,” Copper said incredulously. “Even you said so, during your interview. But now I’m cold? You’re really going to insult me after I shared my sleeping bag with you?”

Cyan’s face fell, and Copper turned his back to the Career as an awkward silence filled the air.

Several moments passed before Cyan spoke again. “I know you hate me.”

The uncomfortable sensation of remorse churned itself in Copper’s stomach. Maybe he had gone a little too far, insulting District 1 like that. 

_Or maybe Cyan just needs thicker skin. He’s probably used to everyone worshipping his every move. This is so dramatic!_

Breakfast was quiet. Cyan passed him a sandwich wordlessly, and Copper took it with guilt. 

_Don’t feel guilty,_ the survivalist scolded.

This was a truce, not a friendship. And the alliance would disintegrate sooner or later anyway.

 _Why am I so angered by Cyan, anyway?_ Copper thought.

He knew that what Cyan had said was true. There was only one _real_ reason he hated seeing the District 1 tributes on television each year. There was only one real reason why Cyan and Victoree, with their blonde hair and beautiful faces nauseated Copper so much.

_Asher._

The stupid girl from District 1 was back in his mind. She lived in his head rent-free, and all the bad, bad images played like a film stuck on repeat. 

Curse a brain that would never forget.

Crystal Obdurate’s shiny blade puncturing poor Asher over, and over, and over again…it played on loop sometimes, ghosting his dreams as they morphed into nightmares.

“I liked District 12 the most that year,” Cyan said unexpectedly. “Asher and Cinder. Reminded me of cinder and ashes, like from a fire. Fitting, I guess. For District 12. I liked Asher. He seemed like a nice kid. He looked sort of angelic, the way he walked and talked.”

Had Cyan read his mind? How did he know that Copper had been thinking about Asher’s Games?

“ _Angelic_ ,” Copper echoed, trying to force his voice into a sour tone. “So you have a thing for tall, blonde, doomed tributes from District 12?”

Cyan waved his hand nonchalantly. “No,” he said smugly. “I prefer _short,_ _ginger_ , doomed tributes from District 12.”

Copper felt himself turning red once again. “Very...funny.” he said, glaring at the Career.

“No, but really,” Cyan replied, his expression softening. “I am sincerely sorry about Asher.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about Asher.”

It was true. He didn’t want Cyan to know about how important Asher had been to him. The fact that the District 1 boy already had insight into the most intimate details of Copper’s mind was quite enough. He couldn’t possibly understand how difficult it was, being reminded of Asher’s death all the time. 

Cyan nodded, apparently actually listening to him for once. “Okay. I just wanted to say that I don’t like what Crystal did during that Games. I don’t think that her actions were brave, or honorable, or anything of the like.”

 _“I won’t kill you until you put up a fight, it’s the honorable thing to do,”_ Crystal had said to Asher.

“There are some people,” Cyan began, pausing as he tried to find the right words. “...That you don’t do that kind of thing to. What Crystal did to your friend, I mean.”

Cyan remembered the first day of the 42nd Games. How the cause of his discomfort was Victoree’s retaliation from the unspoken code of the Careers— that you make the bloodbath kills quick; you kill the babies early, so they don’t have to suffer, and then save the ugly kills for later when things would get slow. 

Crystal had been less sadistic, but she still dragged it out, giving the audience a show to relish as she conversed with Asher before dealing out the fatal blow. 

Copper became painfully aware of how close Cyan’s face was to his own. 

_There are some people that you don’t do that kind of thing to._

So Asher was one of those people, then? But what about the kills that Cyan had racked up? Did _those_ tributes deserve it, then, just because they were somehow less innocent than Asher had been?

“Who did you kill?” Copper asked.

Cyan looked back at him for several moments. The entire forest seemed to go completely silent as he waited for the Career to say something. Copper’s voice had been heavy with intent, set on getting Cyan to reveal his lack of innocence— to show that he was no different from Crystal. 

“I killed Weft…” he began, his eyes taking on a different look as if he was picturing it all over again. “And Mattock. Carob was mortally wounded when I ended him. I only did it because he must’ve been in really, really bad pain.”

Copper nodded. “And were they somehow different from Asher? Were they people who deserved it?”

He knew that the answer was no. Nobody deserved the kind of deaths that the Games gave out. But would a Career really understand that?

The silence continued. 

Somewhere, in the distance, a bird chirped, and the quiet spell was broken.

Cyan put his hand over Copper’s, pressing it down into the fabric of his pant leg. Copper tried to gently move it, but it held firm.

“Cyan…” he began, not wanting to tell this boy _again_ not to touch him.

“All I’m trying to say,” Cyan said, this time staring into Copper’s eyes and not at his hair. “Is that I don’t want you to hate me for something that a jerk from my district did a few years ago. I don’t agree with what she did. I don’t even agree with what _I_ did. To Mattock, and Carob, and I guess even to Weft.”

Copper didn’t reply. Instead, he stared back at Cyan. He wished the boy would remove his stupid hand already. 

“Just hate me for _me_ , not for what Crystal did to Asher,” Cyan said. “Like how I like you for _you._ ”

 _That’s manipulative,_ the survivalist said. _He’s so cheesy._

“Um…” Copper said, having no idea what to say.

Cyan shrugged sheepishly. “Or you can hate me because of how beautiful I am.”

Copper scowled, using the opportunity to pull his hand away. “You’re so egotistical. But I don’t hate you.”

Cyan didn’t reply. 

The rest of the day wasn’t _horrible._ They still weren’t friends, at least in Copper’s opinion. They actually barely even talked. It was still rainy and snowy, but he had grown used to this. What a drab arena. 

_Maybe I should just be friendly towards him,_ Copper thought. _I don’t want to die with all of this negative energy radiating out of me. I should just try to make the best of this while I’m still here._

When the day began to fade away into twilight, Cyan crawled into Copper’s sleeping bag without hesitation. Copper was surprised. Wasn’t that supposed to be a one-time thing, since it had been so cold and rainy? The atmosphere wasn’t nearly as frigid tonight.

 _Surely the Gamemakers would make it freezing again if you didn’t let Cyan into the bag,_ the existentialist said. _Just be nice._

 _You’ll be safer that way, too,_ the survivalist agreed, surprising Copper. It wasn’t often that the two voices of reason actually gave the same advice. Their reasoning, however, was still as different as ever. 

He remembered how warm and safe it had felt in the sleeping bag the previous night. It was pretty much unfathomable to feel safe in the Hunger Games, but he had, at least briefly. It was a nice feeling.

As Copper closed his eyes, he found himself thinking of Adeline, and that was when the word _alone_ popped into his mind. Cyan might have been keeping him safe, but he still felt lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this story is getting so much harder to write. I'm sorry for the short chapter!  
> Also, does anyone have predictions about what will happen? I’m trying to see if I’m on the same page as the readers. As always, I love getting comments, lol.


	39. Fallen For It

Things were heating up in the Capitol. The events of the 42nd Hunger Games were unfolding quite nicely, but it was a pity that it all would be coming to a conclusion soon. The latest point of discussion was how Cyan Cordierite, the brutish and boyish boy from District 1 had teamed up with a pathetic, scrawny District 12 tribute. 

Copper Hurst was one of those tributes who garnered attention momentarily, but then lost it at his inevitable demise. He certainly wasn’t the first tribute from an outlying district to acquire fans in the Capitol. There were other tributes who had as well, and for similar reasons. The District 8 girl from a few years ago had two different colored eyes. One of them was a light brown, while the other was a swirl of brown and brilliant blue. The girl’s heterochromia had given her an advantage in the Games; there were many sponsors who were stunned by her uniqueness. Unfortunately, though, she met her end when a little over half of the tributes had been eliminated. She placed 9th. 

Copper’s beautiful red hair was all that he had going for him. To the head Gamemakers, it was shocking that he had made it as far as he had. The ripples that the boy had created in the Capitol were due to his unusual appearance and his timid, quiet persona. None of them expected him to survive past a few days, at the very most. His mentor, Cerritulus Forebode, was also a little unusual. For one, the man wasn’t even qualified to be a mentor. He had never competed in the Hunger Games. But, as the poorest district was devoid of a single victor, the responsibility had somehow fallen on this silvery man. The Gamemakers found him rather obsessive, staring at Copper’s table screen incessantly. He appeared to be losing weight, too. His silver hair made him look years older than he really was.

Victoree Obdurate was the most likely candidate for victor of the 42nd Hunger Games. She was beautiful, and the Capitol people adored her. However, this alliance between Copper and Cyan was fast-evolving, and it was difficult to predict who was being rooted for the most. 

There was something between Copper and Cyan. Something that made for _superb_ television. Oh, how tragic the coming days would be for them. After all, only one tribute could win the Hunger Games. 

.

.

.

Cyan awoke before Copper that day. He slid himself as quietly as possible out of the sleeping bag, praying that he wouldn’t wake the slumbering District 12 tribute. Copper needed as much rest as he could get right now. Anyway, the sun had yet to rise, but Cyan couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was hard for him to imagine what Copper’s life had been like before the arena. He had caught glimpses of District 12 before, but only briefly during the public Reapings. The square was much, much different than District 1’s. There were a lot less people for one thing, and, for another, it was quite obvious that they were poor. Even when they stood in their best clothes on Reaping Day. Tributes tended to look one of two ways: pale, blonde, and thin, or olive-skinned, black-haired, and even more emaciated.

Asher had been from the former category. He was wealthier, Cyan presumed, judging by his light hair and the clothing that he wore. He was a merchant’s kid, if Cyan remembered the boy’s interview correctly. The other girl, Cinder, was a brunette with darker skin. She was the typical coal miner’s girl. 

But what was Copper? He didn’t fit either description well. He wasn’t ghostly pale like a merchant’s child, but his red hair didn’t mimic the inky shade of Cinder’s. He mentioned a brother, Steel, who had given him a lump of coal as his district token. It was safe to say that he was from Cinder’s segment of the district, then— the poor side. 

Cyan recalled that the District 12 escort churned the slips in the Reaping ball hungrily. There weren’t many children to choose from, at least compared to a district like District 6. But the slips were bountiful. The tesserae taken out by the impoverished kids must have added thousands more slips to the glass sphere. 

On another note, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Copper had been willing to share his sleeping bag with him. The boy was so kind and selfless, something that no District 1 tribute ever was. Cyan found it especially meaningful that Copper was sharing it with _him,_ considering District 1 killed Asher several years ago, and a few other unlucky District 12 kids. 

Copper was so _innocent._ He had obviously never held a weapon in his life before the Games. Cyan smiled softly as he remembered watching him pull the bow string back in the Training Center, sending an arrow tumbling a mere two feet from where he was standing. 

Copper was innocent in another way, though. He was completely and utterly oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions that Cyan felt when he looked at him. The boy was still _scared_ of him. Of course he was. What kid from an outlying district wouldn’t fear a Career, an eighteen-year-old trained to kill from birth? But Cyan couldn’t imagine hurting Copper in his wildest dreams. 

He accepted, now, that he _liked_ Copper. First, maybe it was the brilliant red hair that had attracted Cyan, but the initial infatuation was long faded now. It was weird how time progressed in the Games. Feelings sped up when you didn’t have much longer to live. He liked Copper for everything that he was. 

_Fuck._ This alliance was so stupid. He was going to end up getting hurt, and poor, sweet Copper would as well. Copper sucked him in with that harmless gaze, and like the worst Career ever, Cyan had fallen for it. 

He sniffed instinctively, wiping his eyes before the cameras could catch an uncontrolled cascade of salty droplets. He was a Career. Careers didn’t cry in the Games. But they also didn’t team up with tiny fawns from District 12 who tottered around the arena, terrified and clumsy. He knew Copper would hate to hear him being described that way. But Cyan didn’t think of it as a bad thing. In fact, he admired Copper’s compassion and innocence, even if the boy didn’t show it to him much. There was just something so heartbreaking about woefully unprepared tributes. He wanted to protect Copper. District 12 deserved to have him come home. 

He thought about Carob and Mattock and Weft. Copper probably never killed anything in his entire life, had he? Not even something as minuscule as the ants that Victoree would stomp on when they were little kids. 

Cyan glanced at the sleeping bag. Copper’s face was concealed by its flap, and the only evidence of his presence was the tuft of red hair that stuck out the top. 

Then, sleet began to rain down onto Cyan, causing him to sigh. Another cold, wet day was in store for them. But he didn’t want to face that day. At least not yet.

Cyan returned to the sleeping bag, sliding in as quietly as he could. This time, though, he woke up Copper. 

“What’s wrong?" Copper croaked sleepily, a note of panic present in his tired voice.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” Cyan assured him soothingly. “I just went for a quick walk. Go back to sleep, Copper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really dragging this out XD. But there will be developments...soonish.


	40. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter EVER, I'm sorry!

Copper was dreaming.

He was back in District 12, at the Reaping. But this time, he wasn’t standing in the crowds of children…

He was sitting on the stage, next to the mayor. Cerritulus was there, too, decked out in silver as he loomed over the microphone. Copper vaguely heard him read off a girl’s name.

“...Victor of the 10th Hunger Games!” Cerritulus finished, before turning to him. “And,” he continued, smiling, revealing his metallic teeth, “Copper Hurst, victor of the 42nd Hunger Games!”

Copper’s breath caught in his throat. Cerritulus was reading off the list of past victors.

Victors. Plural. Because he was now one of them.

“Now,” Cerritulus said, turning back around to face the crowd. “I hope you are all excited! It is the 50th annual Hunger Games, which is _very_ special!”

The 50th Games. 

_It’s a Quarter Quell,_ Copper realized with horror.

“As President Snow has revealed, the Quarter Quell this year will add a fun, exciting twist to the Hunger Games! I will read the card again for you all before we get started!”

Copper held his breath. What had the first Quarter Quell been? They voted on who would go into the Games, hadn’t they?

Cerritulus spoke. “As a reminder that to fight against the Capitol is to fight against your own family, the tributes reaped will be siblings!”

This was no ordinary dream. This was a nightmare. But Cerritulus wasn’t calling any names.

Suddenly, the scenery changed. 

The silvery escort was no longer there. Instead, a woman with poofy purple hair stood at the Reaping ball. “For the 75th Hunger Games,” she said shrilly, “As a reminder that in the event of a rebellion, the brightest and most innovative people who may change the world would die, the tributes chosen will be reaped from the top 1% of students in each district!”

Copper felt sick. The dream lurched again. 

“As a reminder that young children are the most vulnerable in times of civil unrest, and suffered the most during the rebellion, all tributes reaped will be twelve years old!”

“As a reminder that entire families died because of the actions of selfish rebels, when a tribute dies in the arena, his or her entire family will be publicly executed!”

“As a reminder…”

.

.

.

Copper awoke with a start, his heart pounding wildly. “What’s wrong?” he asked groggily, the fear still present in his voice. Would he be mentoring doomed tributes for this Quarter Quell? Was it true?

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” the familiar voice of Cyan said soothingly. “Go back to sleep, Copper.”

It all came crashing down on him then. No, he wasn’t a victor. He was in a situation that was probably much, much worse. He was in the Games. 

Copper was aware of Cyan sliding into the sleeping bag next to him, but the dreams were still freshly imprinted on his mind, threatening to ravage him with a full-on panic attack. 

“C-Cyan…” Copper choked out. 

The Career became aware that the boy’s body was trembling in the sleeping bag, his cheeks flushed as beads of moisture dripped down them. He was...crying.

Why on earth was he crying? He had been asleep only moments ago.

“Copper, it’s okay,” Cyan said in a hushed whisper. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

What happened next, he wasn’t sure. One moment, Copper was shaking and sobbing his eyes out across from him, leaving the Career feeling awkward and uncomfortable. 

But in the next moment— and he wasn’t even sure how, Copper was in his arms. 

They stayed there for what felt like hours to Cyan. The District 12 tribute cried into the golden fabric of his arena jacket softly and with no intent of stopping. Even when his arm began to feel sore, Cyan didn’t budge. Copper needed this. He needed someone to be here for him. 

It was quite possible that, after everything he had faced, the Inferno-Boy was finally breaking. Were the cracks that the Games had inflicted on Copper finally too much? Was he shattering, now, being one of only four tributes still stuck in this hellscape?

“It’s okay, Copper,” Cyan whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Finally, the mixture of snow and rain subsided...and as it did, so did Copper’s tears. But the boy didn’t remove his face from the fabric of Cyan’s jacket, and Cyan didn’t stop trying to comfort him, either. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Cyan continued, hoping that if he repeated it enough, maybe he would start to believe it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!


	41. Break His Spirit First

“I’m over this shit,” Victoree mutttered through gritted teeth, throwing Flint off of her as she walked out the mouth of the Cornucopia. “It’s time these Games end.”

Flint sat up in the sleeping bag that the two had been sharing. “What do you mean, babe?”

_ Babe. God, gross!  _ Victoree thought, tossing a wave of her rooted blonde hair behind her.

She turned to face him. “I  _ mean  _ that I’m over this bullshit, just like I said! There are only four of us left. I say we go hunt the traitor and his wussy boyfriend down. Then it’ll be just you and me, Flint.”

The District 2 boy grinned at her. “And then what?”

Victoree smirked humorlessly. “Oh, Flint, I think you can answer that one yourself.” She waved her sword playfully. 

_ Flint, I’m going to kill you. And you’re so stupid that you won’t even see it coming. _

Leif died at the feast before they were able to get there...and when they did, there was absolutely nothing left on the ornate table that sat in front of the Cornucopia, unless you counted the blood splatter. Victoree was livid. She knew that Cyan had taken it all, purposely leaving nothing for them. It wouldn’t be the first time he gave her  _ nothing.  _

She wished that Leif survived a little longer, or long enough to do more of her dirty work for her. Killing wasn’t fun anymore, it was just a chore. All that she could think about now was the Victory Tour and a mansion all her own in the Victors’ Village. 

But, Leif was unpredictable and dangerous, so the way things were playing out was probably for the best. Victoree was shocked that it wasn’t that pathetic District 12 boy who appeared in the sky that night— what was his name again, Copper? No doubt Cyan had saved his incompetent little ass. 

She couldn’t understand what her district partner  _ saw  _ in that weakling. Copper  _ was  _ the reason that Cyan had abandoned the Career pack, right? He couldn’t fight or do anything useful. He scored a  _ three  _ in training, after all. Quay insisted that he did it on purpose, but the more Victoree thought about it, the more she believed that Copper truly was the biggest joke in the 42nd Hunger Games. 

Copper wasn’t even attractive. He was short, scrawny, and crooked-nosed. His red hair didn’t fit well with his features...it made him look intense, and not in a good way. He was underweight and looked eleven-years-old. There must be some other reason Cyan was with him. If it were  _ looks  _ that he cared so desperately about, he never would’ve turned her down. Victoree was the prettiest girl in District 1 as far as she was concerned. She could have anyone she wanted. 

Well, anyone except Cyan, apparently. The thought of it still enraged her. But she would get the ultimate revenge. Maybe killing wasn’t so fun anymore, but there was still  _ one  _ more kill that she knew would be the most exciting of them all.

At the Academy, they learned about how to make kills interesting for the audience. The bloodbath deaths were supposed to be quick and mundane, but Victoree had gone all out to put on a show. She was sure that this earned her that much more prestige in the Capitol. Of course Flint copied her, though. The rest of the Careers killed quickly and efficiently, but that was no fun.

The end of the Games would be the biggest showdown...and the perfect opportunity to make everyone remember her name. Copper would be easy to kill, so it didn’t make sense to waste much time with him. She’d send Flint for the brat, taking her own sweet time with Cyan…

_ Or, maybe she would use Copper for something else.  _

Victoree smiled as the idea came to her. She would break Cyan’s spirit first, killing his wussy boyfriend slowly all while forcing him to watch. The entirety of Panem seeing his mental collapse was the perfect price for him to pay for rejecting the Careers...

...For rejecting  _ her. _

There was no question in Victoree’s mind that she would be winning the 42nd Hunger Games. She was  _ born  _ for this. The thought of her failing while Crystal won was enough motivation to keep her going. Even though this arena was hellish, freezing, and bleak, Victoree would prevail. This wasn’t the rinky-dinky, warm, boulder-ridden Games that Crystal was thrown into. That was child’s play compared to this place.

Cyan was such an  _ idiot.  _ He thought about himself as some sort of selfless martyr, protecting the weak like it somehow accomplished something. He was a hypocrite, acting like Copper was worth anything. What about that District 11 baby? Apparently, Cyan thought that a knife to the head was what  _ he _ deserved. But poor, snivelling Copper was somehow different? It nauseated Victoree.

He valued poor, defenseless, cannon fodder more than he valued his own district. What kind of victor would Cyan be, if, in some alternate universe, he actually won? The thought was irrelevant anyway, Victoree supposed. Cyan would never win. He was too sentimental now. Something in him changed...something that no victor had.

When she finally got her hands on Copper, Cyan would ball his eyes out. He would plead at her feet, begging for mercy. It would be the ultimate lesson: that you shouldn’t care about people who don’t stand a chance— people who are doomed from the beginning. 

“Come on, Flint,” she said, standing up straighter. “It’s time we find them. The wimpy District 12 boy won’t be hard to get rid of, but I’m going to ask you to resist killing him...at first.”

Flint looked confused. “What do you mean? Why can’t we just kill him?” His tone was whiny and childish. 

Victoree rolled her eyes. “I have a special plan. We’re going to put on a show, okay big guy? It’ll be  _ glorious.  _ Cyan’s no match for me, even if we both scored a 10. We’re going to play with our little friends before we kill them,” she paused, letting Flint’s thick skull take the information in. “Doesn’t that sound nice,  _ babe?” _

He stared dumbly at her for a moment. It was almost disturbing how obviously slow the gears in his mind turned. Finally, he smiled back at her. “Sounds great, sweetie.”

“We should split up,” she continued, ignoring the  _ sweetie  _ that made her want to gag. “That way we can find them more quickly. I want out of here.”

Flint narrowed his eyes, clearly not excited about  _ that  _ part of the plan. But Victoree anticipated this. “Don’t worry,” she said sultrily, raising a hand before he could protest. “I won’t kill them without you...and you won’t kill them without me, will you,  _ sweetie? _ ”

“Of course not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me publish chapters more quickly ;)


	42. In Another Life

Copper awoke from his fitful sleep to find that he was hugging Cyan Cordierite. It was mid-afternoon now, but the events of the morning were still fresh on his mind. The Career’s kind words still echoed around, fending off whatever breakdown he was on the verge of.

_ “You’re going to be fine,”  _ Cyan had said.

Even if it wasn’t true, Copper still felt comforted by it, both then and now.

It was quite obvious that Cyan was scared too. His voice feigned confidence, but the aura of self-doubt and gloom was picked up easily by Copper. Nobody was impervious to the “what-ifs” of the 42nd Hunger Games anymore. However, this was sort of reassuring to him. If even the Careers were scared, then maybe the playing field was more level than he had initially perceived it to be.

_ Don’t be ridiculous, Copper,  _ the survivalist said.  _ They’re all far more prepared than you are. _

Surviving the arena wasn’t the only dilemma anymore. No, their identities and beliefs were at stake. Even if one of them emerged victorious, there would be the Victory Tour, and then a life of depression in the Victors’ Village.

_ No, it would be a life of depression for  _ **_you,_ ** the survivalist sneered.  _ Cyan wouldn’t have any problem enjoying himself as a victor.  _

But Copper didn’t truly believe that. He cursed himself for ever thinking that Cyan was similar to Victoree and the others. He clearly wasn’t. Cyan was  _ here,  _ with  _ him.  _ He befriended him, defended him, and only God knew what else. Maybe Cyan was flashy and spoke in a pretentious, District 1-esque way, but he wasn’t a typical Career.

_ "I'm just...I want people to know that I'm not a bad guy. I don't see myself as ruthless. Sometimes I have to remind myself that.” _

If there was one thing that Copper  _ never  _ would’ve thought, it was that a Career tribute may express similar values to his own. 

_ He killed Carob, Mattock, and Weft, though,  _ the survivalist pointed out.  _ That could never be right, at least with your stupid little code. But you’re a hypocrite, Copper. _

The existentialist bit back.  _ Copper only killed Annua because she was trying to hurt Adeline,  _ it said testily.  _ He has never hurt someone on his own, unwarranted accord. Besides, Cyan was saving Copper when he killed Weft. And Carob was a mercy killing, we heard it from Cyan ourselves! _

_ But Mattock,  _ the survivalist said.

Cyan was trained to kill from birth. How easy was it to fight against something as powerful as instinct? Mattock’s murder was a brutal act that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Copper knew that the guilt would never cease. Was that punishment enough? 

_ Some things are never really enough,  _ the existentialist said.  _ I don’t know why. _

The District 12 boy buried his face further in the fabric of Cyan’s shirt. Who was really to blame in all of this? Was it the tributes, brutally killing one another without a second thought? Was it only the Careers, trained from birth, brainwashed into thinking that this was some sort of pageant of honor? Was it the districts that rebelled? Was it Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with creating the Hunger Games 42 years ago? Was it President Ravenstill’s fault, the one who ruled Panem when all of this started?

Beside Copper, Cyan’s warm lump of a body turned over, his eyes opening sleepily. 

“Hey. Good...afternoon?”

“Good..afternoon,” Copper replied awkwardly. “Are you hungry? We should eat.”

Cyan nodded. Copper couldn’t help but wonder if the Career had ever experienced real hunger prior to the Games. It was a silly question. Of course not. District 1 was the Capitol’s lapdog. 

They ate quietly. It wasn’t an awkward quiet, much to Copper’s relief. They were finally warming up to one another. He supposed that’s what happened when you spent hours crying into the shirt of someone. Ugh, all of Panem probably saw  _ that.  _ What would Steel think, seeing him behave in such a ridiculous manner? It wasn’t exactly the type of thing that men were “supposed” to do. He shoved the thought away.

“I haven’t eaten much at  _ all  _ since the Games started,” Cyan said, practically inhaling his sandwich. “Food tastes so much better now. Nothing beats what my mom would make back in District 1, though.”

Copper laughed and shook his head. 

“What?” 

Copper shrugged. “Nothing.”

Why was the Inferno-Boy laughing? 

_ Oh.  _

How could he have been so stupid? Copper was from District 12. There was a  _ reason  _ that the kids looked so thin and lifeless. They were infinitely poorer than the citizens of District 1. It used to be so easy to gloss over that, when Cyan’s only reminder of their existence was during their brief time on screen in the Games. Now, with a tribute from the most impoverished sector of Panem in front of him, he was able to grasp just how bad the reality of the redhead’s home really was. 

He wanted to say something...something to fix this. But what on earth could he say? No wonder Copper never complained of hunger. It was probably the norm for him to feel the pangs in his belly. 

Cyan inhaled, trying to sound nonchalant. “I wish you would’ve been born in District 1.”

“What?” Copper said, looking bewildered. “No, no...if I had been born in 1, then I wouldn’t be me. I would be superficial and trained to kill...that’s not who I am.”

Cyan ignored the  _ superficial  _ comment. Was that what Copper thought of him? 

His mind went back to District 12. Admittedly, the place seemed very unappealing. But its people came across as good-natured. Simple, but there was beauty in that, at least to Cyan. 

“Okay,” he said. “What if I was born in District 12?”

Cyan didn’t know why, but it was something that he wanted. He wanted it more than being a victor, or living a spoiled life in the luxury district. Maybe it was foolish, wishing that he grew up in the same place as a kid he had known for only a few weeks. But that didn’t change the fact that he still wanted it. Just like if Copper was born in District 1, being a resident of District 12 would’ve made Cyan a separate person. There was a major difference, though. 

Cyan knew that he would be a  _ better  _ person if he was born in 12. There was no question about that. 

“I don’t really know,” Copper said pensively. “I mean, I’m sure you would’ve been a merchant’s kid,” he looked at the Career’s hair. “And I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have been friends.”

Cyan’s face fell. “But what about Asher? He was a merchant’s kid, and he was also your best friend.”

Copper flinched. 

_ Fuck, I didn’t mean to mention Asher! _

“That was different,” Copper said. “Asher wasn’t like the rest of them.”

“But I’m not like the other Careers,” Cyan insisted, nearly failing to conceal the desperation in his steady voice. “So maybe I wouldn’t have been like the other merchant’s kids.”

Copper shrugged. “Maybe.”

There was a brief silence. 

“But,” Copper said suddenly. “I  _ do  _ like spending time with you. I just don’t know what would happen in a fake hypothetical situation like the one you’re presenting me with.”

Cyan bit his lip, forcing himself not to laugh. Sometimes, the way Copper spoke was so...formal. He was adorable, if a bit awkward.

“So we’d be friends, then?” he asked.

Copper rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll think about it seriously this time. If you were born in District 12...hm. Well, I would have absolutely no choice but to be best friends with you. You’re the only green-eyed person I know, anyway. And you’re pretty funny. I’m sure I’d love you when your ego wasn’t all inflated. ”

_ Love.  _ Copper had said the word  _ love… _

Cyan felt sick. 

Copper winced. “Oh..” he said, clearly embarrassed as his cheeks burned brightly. “I-I’m sorry. I was only kidding...”

He was trying to make him feel better.

“I’m serious, Cyan, I wouldn’t actually…”

But it was doing the reverse. 

.

.

.

The rest of the day went by peacefully despite the tension that had arisen earlier. Cyan felt content just being in Copper’s presence, even if he couldn’t get the boy’s previous words off his mind. He said that he would’ve  _ loved  _ him, if only the circumstances were different. His attempt to retract his words was even worse. The pain caused by his obliviousness was quite tremendous. 

Although today was peaceful, this wouldn’t last. The impending shattering of their tranquil time was approaching. So, Cyan thought, he might as well soak up what he could now. Even if it was painful. 

As the afternoon turned to night, the cold began to creep back into their bones. Copper slipped into the sleeping bag, covering all of himself besides his eyes and the tip of his nose. Cyan followed, burrowing himself in the bag next to him. This time, though, he removed his jacket, causing Copper to eye him timidly.

“It’ll be warmer with just my shirt on, trust me,” Cyan said, trying to sound casual. He only wanted to make it more comfortable for Copper. “The outside of the jacket is rough.”

It was still semi dark, but the stars were already visible. Copper buried his face into the cotton of Cyan’s shirt. He wasn’t trying to put distance between them anymore. What had changed?

“Goodnight,” Copper murmured sleepily into the fabric.

“Goodnight, Copper,” Cyan whispered back.

Maybe he hadn’t been born in District 12, but at least he met Copper to begin with. Maybe, even if it wasn’t here in the arena, they would be together again. It was a nice thought, thinking about a Cyan and Copper from another universe who lived happily ever after.


	43. Snow Angels

When Copper woke up, he was alone.

His dreams had been pleasant, filled with sunny fields and warm days back in District 12. But when he opened his eyes, he saw that Cyan was no longer next to him. To his further surprise, there was roughly six-inches of fresh snow on the ground. 

Looking up towards the sky, Copper saw that all of the trees were white. It looked like a different place now.

_ Cyan…? _

He remembered their conversation from yesterday. Maybe he had been rude in the way that he reacted to Cyan’s wish about him being born in District 1. The Career clearly was in a state that was just as vulnerable as he was. But what Copper said was true; being a resident of District 1 was something that he could never want. It was all just hypothetical, anyway. The conversation didn’t change the reality that he was from the coal-mining capital of Panem. 

He sat up slowly, shaking snow off of the sleeping bag as he did so. He was sore from where a root had dug into his shoulder, but Copper wasn’t thinking about that at the moment. 

“Cyan?” he called out, dread creeping into his chest. He wanted to apologize to the boy, to say that he was sorry for being mean yesterday. But when he looked around, Cyan wasn’t there. 

The concern grew. “Cyan?” he called, his voice cracking in the process. “Cyan, where are you?”

The only response he got was the wind in the trees. It was eerily quiet. 

Copper told himself that he had slipped away to hunt, or maybe to take a quick walk. The thoughts hushed his unquiet mind, but only for a while. There was no stopping the brewing of panic that he felt. 

Maybe Cyan was attacked by a mutt. Or maybe he ran into Victoree and the District 2 boy. 

Copper rolled up the sleeping bag and placed it back into the bag it had come in before throwing it over his shoulders. His dart gun was clenched tightly in his gloved hand. 

What if Cyan never came back at all?

He stood alone in the middle of the wintery forest. If something terrible happened to Cyan, he would die while still thinking that Copper thought he was “superficial” and “trained to kill.” He would die thinking that Copper was still annoyed with him.

Copper’s heart felt as if it was as heavy and lumpy as the piece of coal that lingered in his pocket from Steel. If Cyan was dead, he would never forgive himself for as long as he lived. But that wouldn’t be long...without  _ him. _

He wasn’t annoyed with Cyan. Of course he wasn’t. It had been difficult initially, grappling with the fact that he was from District 1. Nobody couldn’t help where they were born though, or the type of people that surrounded them as they grew up. Cyan was Copper’s protector...he was his  _ friend.  _

_ “We could be allies...and friends. All that, you know?” _

He kept him warm in this freezing place, and comforted him when he cried. He was a better person than Copper would’ve  _ ever  _ imagined. 

_ I tried to warn you,  _ the survivalist said.  _ Cyan was going to leave you all along. What did you expect? Did you really think you’d be friends forever?  _

But the survivalist was wrong, and Copper knew that. Cyan would never leave him randomly. Something was amiss. He wasn’t coming back, so the only option left was to look for him.

_ Victoree could be anywhere, you know,  _ the survivalist continued. 

Copper didn’t care, though. He wanted to find Cyan; he wanted to make sure that he was okay. The boy’s backpack was still here, anyway, even if his sword wasn’t. Surely he would’ve taken it if he intended on abandoning the alliance?

Copper forced down a bit of breakfast. Their supply of food was dwindling, and it wouldn’t be long until they were back at square one with nothing to eat. But the Games would be over by that point, right?

_ Fine, go off and look for him like an idiot,  _ the survivalist spat.  _ Since you loooove him so much. _

_ I don’t love him!  _ Copper thought, flushing with frustration and embarrassment.  _ I barely even know him! _

_ Then why are you so worried, risking your life like this? How stupid of you, Copper. _

This was the Hunger Games! Even if he  _ did  _ have a small crush on Cyan, which he did NOT, why did it matter? There were more important things to focus on...like keeping his morale, and staying  _ alive.  _ Every second of his time left on earth was priceless. There was no use imagining a happy ending, because it simply wasn’t going to happen. And, if things would end badly, he might as well try to do some good in the process. That good was saving Cyan, or whatever he could do to help him. 

Copper trudged through the snow, a new glint in his steely eyes. Cyan wasn’t here for him to hide behind anymore...he wasn’t here to stop someone like Weft or Leif from killing him. It was time to be brave. Perhaps there would be no happy ending, but that wasn’t to say that the ending couldn’t have some sort of value.

He thought about the Capitol salivating at his very move, eager to watch him succumb to whatever evil was in store. If only he had more of a chance at making it out of the arena...he would march straight up to President Snow and give Panem’s heartless leader a piece of his mind. The Capitol would kill his family if he ever behaved in such a way, so it probably wasn’t worth it to begin with. 

It didn’t matter, though, because he wouldn’t make it regardless. He accepted that long ago— probably from the second Cerritulus Forebode called his name on that fateful day at the Reaping. All he could do was hope that Cyan Cordierite could win, wherever he was right now. That way the victor would be someone good and kind.

Time passed, and there was still no sign of the Career. Even though it was still morning, Copper felt tired. He looked down at the ground, breathing heavily. The air was so cold that it felt difficult to breathe without his lungs aching dully. He resisted the urge to call out Cyan’s name again. It was impossible to know whether Victoree was lurking nearby.

He kept walking, fixating his eyes on a set of footprints in the snow.

_ Footprints.  _

He gasped. They were big, way too big to be Victoree’s. It wouldn’t make sense for them to be the District 2 boy’s either, since he was probably with her. That meant that they were Cyan’s, then, right?

Suddenly, something darted between the trees beside him. Copper jerked his head to the side, his blood turning cold with adrenaline.

_ What was that? _

He looked behind him, scanning the tree line for any other sign of development…

A streak of movement caught his eye once more, but it disappeared behind a snow-encased tree before he could get a good look at it.

_ What…? _

Copper quickened his pace, following the footprints closely but not taking his eyes off of the trees. His eyes darted everywhere, zigzagging around the forest. He kepting turning around, trying to make sure that someone—or  _ something, _ wasn’t following him. His fists were wrapped up tight, shaking, and he couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

A small amount of snow fell off of a nearby tree. Copper pulled his gaze towards it…

And that’s when he saw it. 

A little ways behind him, almost invisible amongst the trees...was a figure. 

At first, Copper thought it was a person. But he quickly dismissed the thought. This... _ thing  _ looked nothing like any of the remaining tributes. None of them had  _ wings,  _ after all _. _

Its skin and hair were white as snow. In fact, maybe the thing was made from snow. Large, feathery wings protruded from its back, and its hands were folded over a transparent, icy sword. It stared at him with cold, glacial eyes. 

A muttation, and a humanoid one at that. Copper thought it looked like a snow angel. But there was nothing holy about this creature, despite the fact that its hands were folded in a way that suggested it was praying. 

Copper edged away from it, not daring to break eye contact. 

But as he did, the snow angel’s wings began to flap, and it propelled through the air silently toward him, the clear blade of its sword pointed directly in front of it.

Copper turned and raced through the snow, desperate to get away from the demonic thing. It was like his last day with Adeline all over again. This...angel thing was somehow even scarier than the growling, possessed polar bear muttation from before. Polar bears had existed on earth before they went extinct. They were real animals, but this snow angel had nothing natural about it. It was a malevolent creation of the Capitol and nothing more.

There was no way he'd be able to outrun something with wings. Copper felt like he was running in a dream; the snow slowed him down and made his footsteps feel sluggish and doomed. 

“Cyan!” he screamed, pleading with fate that maybe the boy was nearby. 

There was nothing but white in front him. This winter wonderland was insidious and dark. Everything looked the same now that the autumnal landscape had transformed into a frosty forest.

But then, Copper caught a glimpse of gold some ways away. 

Cyan’s jacket. 

“Cyan!” he cried again. To his right, another snow angel was emerging from behind the trees. 

The Career was getting closer. His dirt-smudged face was in perfect view now as he ran towards him. Even the green of his eyes was visible. “Copper!”

Copper rushed at him, colliding with the boy while he was still full-on running. He found that he was wrapping his arms around him in both fear and relief. 

“Cyan, there are mutts!” he sobbed, trying to drag the Career away. “Come on, we need to go!”

Cyan looked around the forest. “Where?” he said, his voice taking on a ferocious edge, almost as if he was ready to attack. “I don’t see any.”

Copper tore his gaze behind them. To his surprise, Cyan was right. There was no sign of those snow angel things. Where did they go? Were they only placed around him to make sure that they found each other?

“I…” Copper began, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. “They were chasing me!” he sobbed. “These snow angel things! They were so scary, I— where  _ were  _ you? You left me! I thought you were  _ dead!” _

His eyes burned as Cyan pulled him backwards and into a hug. “I was just looking for something to hunt. We were running out food. I didn’t want to wake you up, and I was planning on coming back really soon.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Copper blurted out, not even acknowledging Cyan’s explanation. “I wasn’t being nice. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just had to find you.”

Hope flashed in Cyan’s eyes, but they quickly turned firm. “I know, Copper. It’s okay. Really. But you shouldn’t have come looking for me by yourself. What if you ran into Victoree, or Flint? Then what?”

He sounded angry, but Copper could tell that he was only worried...just like he had been when he awoke without him in the sleeping bag. 

“Okay, maybe I was being stupid,” Copper admitted. “But so were you! You should’ve told me where you were going. I was so scared.”

Cyan didn’t let go of him. “You’re right, Inferno-Boy. I should’ve. But we are both okay, and that’s all that matters. Should we go back now?”

Copper shook his head urgently. “No! I told you, there are mutts in this forest! I wasn’t imagining things. We need to keep going. I packed up everything when I set off to look for you. There’s nothing that we need to go back—”

Suddenly, Cyan’s face came so close to his that it went out of focus. Before he had any idea what was going on, Cyan’s lips were pressed against his own, stealing his breath away in a moment of pure shock.

_ What the…? _

The sensation was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the cold, relentless forest around them. Copper’s hand was still on the boy’s back, and he felt himself clenching the fabric of the jacket for some sort of support. His eyes closed in surprise as he felt Cyan grasping the back of his neck. Even if the action was soft, there was a strange sort of desperation behind it. His mind was swirling with a hundred feelings at once. It was like an emotional hurricane. 

By the time he finally registered what was happening, Cyan had pulled away.

“Sorry,” the Career said sheepishly, that crooked smile returning to his face. “I guess I just couldn’t contain myself any longer.”

Copper felt numb. He couldn’t speak.

Cyan’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have done that. Of  _ course _ I shouldn’t have done that…”

No words escaped Copper’s lips. What could he even say?

Cyan sighed. “Copper, say something. Please? I...tell me I’m a huge idiot with no boundaries. I’m sorry.”

Finally, the words tumbled from his mouth. 

“That was my first kiss... _ ever! _ You couldn’t even  _ ask  _ me first?!”

Cyan looked like he had been slapped. The boy looked pained, and it made Copper want to take the words right back. 

“C-Copper…” there was so much feeling packed into those syllables. “I just was hoping you felt the same. I’m so sorry.”

The whirlwind of emotions that he felt during the kiss still hadn’t subsided. He felt everything— happiness, excitement, sorrow, pain, dread, fear...and love. And longing. 

_ Tomorrow, maybe I’ll be dead. But for now...I am alive.  _

Before he knew what he was doing, Copper was pulling Cyan’s face back to his own, kissing him again as tears trickled down his reddened cheeks. It was the only way he could drown out the incessant voice of the survivalist and thoughts of his impending death. It erased the coldness that had nestled itself in his spine since rising in the arena on the first day of the 42nd Hunger Games. He felt truly warm now, something that he hadn’t experienced in weeks. 

He didn’t love Cyan. He  _ couldn’t.  _ But he realized that, if he was given enough time, he  _ could’ve  _ loved him. Maybe in some world where the Hunger Games and districts didn’t exist, they were meant to be. They could’ve been happy in another life. 

Copper felt another fiery flare of hatred towards the Capitol and all of the evil they had done. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Cyan, because he hated them too, and he meant safety. He meant comfort...and maybe even love. The process should’ve taken months, maybe even years to happen. Falling in love, that is. But because they lived in Panem, the totalitarian prison that it was, everything seemed to be happening all at once. 

Cyan’s hand’s moved through his hair, that hair that everyone was so obsessed with. But only he was allowed to touch it. Only he could see it in the flesh. His hands were powerful and dangerous, whereas Copper’s were soft and uncalloused. It hurt a little, but Copper didn’t care. There wasn’t enough time left to care. 

And then, Cyan broke away from him. “I think I love you.”


	44. Always a Chance

“N-No...you really don’t,” Copper said. “Maybe you could’ve at some point. But not here. Love doesn’t happen like that.”

“Then how _does_ love happen?” Cyan asked, an edge of annoyance present in his voice. 

“I have no idea,” Copper said. “But I know you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Well, what should I say instead?”

“There’s...there’s nothing you should say,” he replied.

He hugged him, then, burying his face in the Career’s jacket. What did this mean, District 1 and District 12 together? It had to be a complete shock to the Capitol and the other districts. That wasn’t why Copper was doing this, though. He felt like he was running out of time...running out of opportunities to find meaning as each tick of the second hand inched closer to his death. He never would’ve thought that he’d kiss someone this early, and it was even more unbelievable that it was in the Hunger Games. But maybe it wasn’t early. Back home, in District 12, it would’ve been. But decades had been removed as soon as Cerritulus plucked his name from the Reaping ball.

This wasn’t some cheesy story from a book of romance tales. Copper wasn’t able to decide what would happen next in the time that remained. So, maybe he wasn’t in love, and maybe he never truly would be. It didn’t matter, though, because he chose not to care. He _liked_ Cyan, and a lot. That had to mean something.

They broke apart, and everything felt numb and heavy. Cyan’s green eyes lingered with a mixture of sadness and contempt. Maybe he had been thinking about the Capitol, too.

“Do you like me?” the Career finally asked, sounding almost afraid to hear the answer. 

Copper thought that he had made that very, very obvious. “Yes…” he said awkwardly, ignoring how pathetic he sounded.

“Well, yesterday, it didn’t really seem like it,” Cyan said. “You said we wouldn’t have even been friends. What happened overnight?”

“I’m not sure,” Copper said honestly. “I guess I just realized...that I don’t have much time left. And that I was being really, really stupid.”

His mind flashed back to waking up in Cyan’s absence. It was so scary to not know where he was. 

“I realized that I missed you a lot, and I was scared when you weren’t around,” Copper continued, trudging through his words even if it was mortifying. “I didn’t know what I had until I thought it was taken away for good.”

Cyan smiled, but it was a twisted, somber sort of grin. “Well, I’m glad you like me.”

Then, he pulled a rabbit from the inside of his jacket. “I managed to hunt this little guy,” he continued, showing it off like it was some sort of treasure. “We have more food now.”

Copper turned away, suppressing the urge to vomit. The creature was bloody and limp. There was no way he could ever eat that.

Cyan laughed. “You don’t like rabbits?”

Copper still didn’t turn around. “I don’t really like raw meat.” He thought of Dottie curled up in a ball within that swampy arena, holding her stomach in pain after eating an uncooked lizard.

“We ate it during training,” Cyan replied. “I guess I didn’t realize that you might not be used to it.”

“It seems like you trained in every aspect,” Copper said. “No stone left unturned.”

Cyan bit his lip. “Not _every_ aspect…” There was some sort of turmoil in his jade eyes.

Copper turned back to him, sensing the trouble in his voice. “I know it’s awful right now,” he said, trying to comfort the Career. “But it’ll be over soon.”

Thinking about death wasn’t as depressing anymore. It came for everyone, but it just happened to be snatching him away a little sooner. He knew that in the moment of his impending doom, he would feel quite differently. But for now, in the safety of Cyan’s shadow, it wasn’t so horrible to think about. It was important to feel alive, because he was, at least for now. There was no point in feeling dead inside before it even happened. 

Cyan winced. “Don’t talk like that. That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Oh...I’m sorry,” Copper said quietly. “But you know it’s going to happen. There’s only one victor, after all. That’s how it always has been,” he took a deep breath. “And maybe always will be.”

“But what if it _wasn’t_ like that?” Cyan asked. “What if the last two tributes refused to kill each other? Or what if they both killed themselves at the same time?”

Copper shrugged, suddenly feeling cynical. “Then they’d probably just release mutts to kill one of them, or stun the tributes before they could commit suicide. The Capitol might even threaten to kill their families if they refused to put up a fight.”

“Fine, I guess you’re right,” Cyan said. “I was only thinking out loud. I just hoped that maybe, some year, there would be a chance.”

Copper reached out and took the Career’s golden-gloved hand. “There’s a chance, definitely,” he whispered. “There will always be a chance. Someday...things could be different.”

Cyan’s questioning of the Hunger Games confirmed what Copper was finally beginning to believe: the Career was more complex and human than he ever would’ve thought. His rocky front was being eroded away by the constant rain and snow in the arena, revealing something not so different from Copper himself. 

“How will things be different, Copper?” Cyan asked. 

“I don’t know...I’ll never know,” he replied. “Someday, though, things will get better. They have to.”


	45. Tomorrow

They walked until the sun began to set over the woods. The chasm came back into view, and beyond it, the land of boulders. 

Copper remembered his time with Adeline, then. God, it felt like years ago. 

_ He watched as the soaked girls surrounding Adeline cringed away from her, opening up a path for the blonde girl to walk through. Peacekeepers walked by her sides as she slowly ascended the steps to the stage. Even from far away, Copper could see the look of pure shock upon Adeline's face. However, she seemed relatively composed, allowing Cerritulus to lead her to the left side of the stage. No one volunteered. _

_ "Marvelous!" Cerritulus exclaimed excitedly. "And now for the boys!" _

What a stark contrast that Reaping Day Cerritulus was to the man who Copper came to know. He missed the silvery escort, and badly. 

_ Maybe you’ll see him again,  _ the survivalist said.  _ If you listen to me.  _

The escort believed in him when nobody else did. He mentored District 12 kids even though it wasn’t his job. 

_ Cerritulus's silver eyes bored into Copper's. "Copper. You can do this.”  _

Something about the way he said it made Copper believe that it wasn’t a preplanned speech. No, it wasn’t something that Cerritulus said to all of his tributes. 

After everything that Copper had been through, maybe, finally, he was beginning to understand what Cerritulus meant. 

The Reaping. Saying goodbye to his family. The Capitol. The chariot ride. Training. Paisley. The private session. The interview. Millet. The launching. The decision. The bloodbath. Protecting Adeline...kneeling beside her when she died. Cheering up Pascal. Holding his fingers out to Volant’s image. Ripping Leif away from Cyan. Sharing his sleeping bag with him. Opening up, even when it was so, so, unmeasurably difficult…

He had struggled to not only survive, but to protect Adeline, and to honor a promise he made to Beatrice about keeping his own humanity intact in the process. As trial after trial had arisen, putting his strength of body and heart to the test, maybe he was discovering that he was not as powerless as he initially believed—and that there was much meaning to be found in risking everything for the people who mean, and meant, so much to him.

_ "Listen, Copper,"  _ Cerritulus had said into his ear.  _ "You know very well that I've seen more tributes come through here than I'd care to admit. But of them all, I believe in you." _

_ That  _ is what Cerritulus meant when he told him that he believed in him. Maybe it was true that he couldn’t fight, or get a good training score, or put on an appealing angle for the cameras. But what  _ was  _ true was that he didn’t give up, and he had evolved into someone who wasn’t so helpless anymore. 

He looked over at Cyan, flinching slightly at the boy’s saddened expression. The Career probably was thinking similar things, Copper decided. It hurt to see him like that.

_ But why?  _ the survivalist huffed. 

Maybe it was because Copper knew that Cyan was going to win. After all, he had already come to terms with his own death— that he wouldn’t be going home. But he accepted that from the moment Cerritulus dragged him by his soaked collar onto the stage of the Justice Building. Maybe he was nothing more than a forgotten tribute in the 42nd Hunger Games; a brief ally to the real hero of the story: Cyan Cordierite, the victor, the atypical Career…

And, to be honest, Copper wanted him to win. 

_ Or maybe you’re the hero,  _ the survivalist countered.  _ They never thought you’d make it this far. But look how foolish they must feel now. Don’t give up...the fight isn’t over until you take your final breath.  _

But Copper didn’t believe the instinctive voice that was forever nagging him. Not anymore. Cyan  _ was  _ the hero of this story. Heros were big, strong, and attractive. Not small, snivelling, and pathetic.

He wouldn’t let the hero of this story die. And if it meant dying in the process, then oh well. 

“Something bad is going to happen tomorrow,” Cyan said unexpectedly, wrenching Copper away from his thoughts. 

An icy-cold feeling invaded his senses. For a moment, he felt paralyzed.  _ Tomorrow. _

“T-Tomorrow…?”

He was going to die tomorrow— and he’d accepted that by now.

_ Tomorrow.  _

Copper had changed in the arena. He became kinder and stronger, and the ephemeral friendships that he made were what molded him into the person that he now was. Never would he have thought that some of the most impactful people in his life would originate from places far away from where he grew up— from places like Districts 3, 6, 8, and... _ 1\.  _ Now, he was able to see the Capitol in its most clear and undistorted form. 

He didn’t remember stepping down underneath another pine tree, his boots crunching softly on the frozen snow. He didn’t remember unravelling the sleeping bag with shaking hands, curling up into a little ball as Cyan slid in next to him. 

His mind was immobilized, repeating  _ tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow,  _ over and over again. 

_ I don’t want to die,  _ the survivalist said. 

_ I’m fine with it,  _ the existentialist replied.  _ As long as I do it with dignity.  _

“It hasn’t been long enough,” Cyan whispered into his ear. “But no matter how much time passed, it still would never be.”

Something in Copper snapped. 

“I hate them!” he yelled as the Capitol Anthem began to play. “I hate them so much, for what they did to us...” 

Then, he was kissing Cyan again. This time, though, it was slower. Copper tried to take it in the best he could, to never forget this fleeting moment. 

“Promise me,” Cyan breathed as they parted, “That you won’t die tomorrow.”

It was a lie to make such a promise. But maybe a little white lie would do some good, at least for now. It would comfort Cyan...it would make him feel like this wasn’t as hopeless as it really was. 

He reached over to caress the blonde Career’s face. “I promise.”

_ Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow,  _ the voices in his mind continued. Copper recognized the inevitability of it all, and he accepted it. Even though he was scared, that didn’t make him weak. It made him human.

Then, he drifted off to sleep, his hand intertwined with Cyan’s.


	46. Resignation

Cerritulus barged into Livia’s studio, anxious to inform her of the recent developments in the 42nd Hunger Games. He was tired, his hair greasy and his eyes bloodshot, but sleeping was barely possible at this point. One of District 12’s tributes hadn’t lasted this long in many, many years...32 years, to be exact.

He found Livia hunched over a greenish-blue suit, her fingers working quickly and efficiently as she sewed the finishing touches onto the garment. Cerritulus was surprised to see her working at this hour...it wasn’t often that Livia chose to pursue projects that weren’t related to her job. But this suit, it had to be for something special...it was beautiful. 

He tapped lightly on the door. “Livia?”

She didn’t look up right away, as she clearly was still immersed in her work. When she did, though, her eyes were dark, and purple half-moons seemed to be imprinted under her tired eyes.

“Oh, hi Cerritulus!” she said, smiling despite the exhaustion on her face. “Sorry, I know we usually watch the Games now, but I’ve had them on in the background,” she motioned to a small screen near her desk. “I’ve been trying to finish up a bit of work.”

Cerritulus stepped forward to get a closer look at the woman’s piece. It was pure art. He noticed, now, that it almost glittered. “What sort of work would you need to do, at this stage in the Games?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Livia, this is amazing.”

She didn’t reply; her concentration clearly was shifted back to the suit.

The greenish-blue fabric was woven with another, contrasting black color, but it wasn’t noticeable until the light hit it just right. It was an interesting design choice...but it looked a little off-putting.

“Why the black?” he asked.

Livia smiled, apparently breaking out of her toil-induced trance. “It’s some of the fabric from Asher’s interview suit. I figured Copper will like that, to wear something that shows honor to his friend.”

Cerritulus’ eyes widened. This suit...was for _Copper_. 

Suddenly, he was at a loss for words. It was true that he believed in the District 12 tribute, but it was difficult to battle the other thoughts...every year, he believed in them. And every year, it turned out the same…

“How can you be so sure that...that Copper will...?” he asked quietly, unable to finish his question.

“Of course I can’t be sure,” Livia replied. “But I’m trying to be positive. We believe in Copper, don’t we? This project has helped me feel so much better about things...and he _will_ wear it,” she said, motioning to the suit. “He will sit across from Caesar Flickerman during the recap, and he will look utterly amazing.”

Beside her, the screen was playing the same part of the Games over and over again. 

_“Do you like me?”_ Cyan Cordierite asked. 

Copper stared back at him, turning red as he stammered out, _“Yes…”_

Then the screen flashed to the boy _kissing_ the Career...only for it to be replaced by him kneeling over the deceased body of Adeline, and then to Leif throwing him against the side of the Cornucopia...it was a montage of sorts.

 _"You're going to win, aren't you?"_ Adeline repeated on loop.

“They really like his story,” Livia said, noticing Cerritulus’ fixture on the screen. “The people here in the Capitol, I mean. They’re showing it like a full arc...like a _victor’s_ arc.”

“It feels intrusive, watching intimate moments like this,” Cerritulus said as an image of Copper and Cyan sleeping invaded the projection. “And I’m not so fond of this Cyan character.”

Livia frowned. “Why? He’s protected Copper for so long. He saved him during the bloodbath, and during the feast, after all.”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Cerritulus resigned. “But it will make it more difficult for Copper to win, having a connection like that in the arena.”

“Yes, maybe, but it will also make it harder for Cyan to hurt him...” she paused. “I know you think that all Careers are bloodthirsty monsters, but there are some things more powerful than that. I think that what we’re seeing now is one of those things.”

Cerritulus didn’t know how he felt about Livia’s choice of words. What he did know, though, was that this was his last year as an escort for District 12. He simply couldn’t continue it anymore. After Dottie, Edith, Cinder, Asher, Mist, Adeline, Collis, and now, Copper _,_ it was just too hard. The job was downright depressing, and he couldn’t maintain the facade any longer.

“I’m done after this year,” he said. “I can’t do it anymore, Livia.”

The woman stopped her stitching, gazing up at him empathetically. “That’s okay, Cerritulus. You’ve done so much for all of District 12’s tributes...more than any other escort. Being a mentor too, I know that it’s hard. You’re a wonderful man for that. You treated those tributes like they were your own children.”

She then got up and hugged him, and he couldn’t control his tears any longer.

“They _were_ my children,” he cried into her shoulder. “I loved them all...I _love_ them all.”

“I know,” Livia said soothingly. “But after tomorrow, this will all be over. You should rest, Cerritulus. It’s going to be a big day...and Copper will win.”

He forced a smile at her as he wiped his argent-colored eyes. “You’re right, Livia. It’s...it’s going to be great.”


	47. Today

Cyan Cordierite had always been eager for his final day in the Hunger Games, but today, he felt like rewinding time back to the Reaping. There was so much he would’ve done differently, if only he knew what the future was going to hold.

But that was impossible. There was no way to stop it, or ignore it, laying here with his arm around Copper, and pretend that today hadn't come. Because it was here. 

He ran a hand through his blonde hair and crept out of the sleeping bag and into the morning light. For once, it wasn’t snowy or rainy. It was sunny...and there could only be one reason for that. He ate a light breakfast but found himself filling up rather quickly. It was almost as if his stomach had shrunk. 

He then went to a nearby rock and began sharpening the edge of his sword with it. There was a horrible sense of foreboding in the air. Everything was going to happen today. The finale— the final confrontation. 

But Cyan Cordierite didn't want to think about that. He knew that he wasn’t ready. How on earth could he be? Maybe physically he was; being confident in his sword-fighting skills wasn’t hard. But his mind...and his heart? They would never, ever be prepared for what the day would hold. 

His eyes drifted over to Copper's sleeping figure, who was still slumbering snugly in the folds of the bag. He looked so harmless. What would he look like...later?

Cyan was still reeling from telling the boy that he _loved_ him. To be honest, he didn’t really know what love was. But he knew that when he was with Copper, he felt something different. 

He knew that his parents loved one another, even if it wasn’t overtly obvious. Love was a casual, blissful thing in District 1. You found someone you liked, and then...you fell in love. You married them, had kids, and lived out your life in the luxury district without a second thought.

But Copper had bristled at his mention of the word. All he could say was, _“Yes…”_ when he was asked if he had feelings. It was much, much different than Cyan would’ve thought. Maybe love meant something else in District 12. The people were certainly much different from his own. 

Copper was so timid and shy, especially in the way that he spoke. But the way the boy acted was a completely different story— a never-ending contradiction. He had seen Copper dash into the bloodbath when the countdown hit zero, sprinting across the danger to save his district partner. 

No, Copper wasn’t the most social or conventional tribute, but he was brave. And he was worth a lot more than he believed. He risked his own life for other people, and that was going against the entire purpose of the Games. He showed unification amongst the districts when the Capitol only wanted to further divide them.

It made Copper extremely dangerous. If he had risked his own life for others so far, would he do that again today? Cyan refused to let that happen. He wasn't going to let Copper die, especially for him. Life didn’t mean that much to him anymore. Copper would undoubtedly try to act selflessly and bravely.

Cyan knew that if he left the arena, he wouldn’t be himself anymore. Copper twisted his outlook on everything, and for the better. But the boy also had made him realize that there was nothing for him beyond this place. There was no life without Copper by his side. It made no sense; they only met a few weeks ago. Cyan didn’t try to understand it.

.

.

.

When Copper woke up, he noticed that Cyan wasn’t beside him. He sat up immediately, worried that the Career had decided to disappear again.

To his relief, Cyan was sitting a few yards away, sharpening his sword with a rock. He looked...scared. His eyes seemed fearful as he continued to strike the stone against the blade.

 _Tomorrow is now today,_ the survivalist said. _He’s scared, just like you._

Cyan _was_ scared, and obviously so. But Copper decided that he was going to try to look as brave as he could. 

_There’s no point in being afraid,_ he told himself. _Whatever is going to happen will happen._

“Good morning,” he said, trying to sound confident and normal. 

Cyan’s eyes immediately flew up to him, ridding themselves of the true emotions that he was feeling. “Oh, hey,” he said, grinning softly. “Good morning. It’s finally sunny again.”

Copper shivered. The sun was out, sure, but it was still cold, and the snow hadn’t melted at all. His surroundings felt mellow and a safe, which they probably were. No threats would be thrown their way today by the Gamemakers. Everyone just wanted to see the final showdown between three Careers and a baby from District 12. 

Copper finished eating, and as he did, he noticed that Cyan was staring at him. It wasn’t unlike the day in the Training Center when Weft mentioned that a Career was looking at him. Back then, he never even anticipated living past the bloodbath, let alone becoming allies with a District 1 tribute. And now, they were more than allies...this was nothing short of dream material. Or maybe it was a nightmare. 

"What’s wrong?" he asked, waiting for Cyan to stop looking over at him.

The boy shrugged. “Oh, nothing,” he laughed humorlessly.

Copper felt his stomach churn. Something about the way that Cyan was still looking at him was unsettling. It was like he was trying to etch every detail of him into his brain. What was he thinking? Did Cyan know what he already knew, that District 12 would finally lose its last tribute today? Or was he thinking something else?

District 12 wouldn’t be going down without a fight, and Copper promised himself that. Just because he was going to die didn’t mean that he shouldn’t do what he could with the time that remained. He was going to stand by Cyan, and make sure that he didn’t get hurt. It was the right thing to do. 

Maybe people would think of him as a luminary in the future, if that even mattered. What others thought was irrelevant, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d leave a lasting impact. District 12 protecting District 1 meant something, didn’t it? Didn’t it show that they were _all_ united as one against the Capitol? Dying didn’t matter. Being graceful and selfless did. 

"Let’s go to the Cornucopia,” he said. "I...I don’t want it to happen here. This place…” he took a shuddering breath. “...Feels like home. I don’t want it to happen here.”

Cyan flinched. "Stop.”

Copper forced himself to stay composed. "It doesn’t help anything to not talk about it. I said what I said...I don't want it to happen here.”

Cyan didn’t respond. He just kept staring at him.

Copper kept talking, ignoring the boy’s mournful expression. “It makes more sense to let me decide where I'm going to d—um, where we are going to fight Victoree and Flint.”

Cyan shuddered slightly, indicating that maybe he was being a little too harsh. Copper felt bad, then, and approached the boy. His feet crunched against the icy, frozen snow. The small breeze felt all too real. Everything was so much more sharp and in focus— everything that he always chose to ignore, he was noticing now.

"Cyan…"

"It’s okay," the Career said, his gravelly voice straining to match the tone that he was so desperately failing at achieving. “I’m serious, I’m fine. Just give me a moment to finish sharpening my sword, then we’ll go to the Cornucopia, okay?”

Copper hated the way that he sounded. His voice was so broken, and he could only imagine how much worse Cyan would be when he died. What if he was completely destroyed?

He wasn’t sure how it happened, then, but Cyan was kissing him again. He pulled him over to the rock, dropping his sword gracelessly onto the snow. Copper felt himself being lifted off the ground as the Career held him close, his breath catching in his throat as it all occurred at once. Now, everything didn’t feel so horrible anymore. Cyan smelled like leather and pine, and he could hear his heart beating softly behind that golden, tattered District 1 jacket. He let his legs wrap around Cyan’s waist.

Copper knew that he didn’t look good anymore. The arena had taken its toll on his appearance, just as it had with all other aspects of his being. To be honest, he never looked very handsome to begin with, being all scrawny and crooked-nosed. He definitely wasn’t like Victoree—tall, blonde, and curvy. But Cyan didn't acknowledge it. Perhaps he didn’t even care.

Finally, they broke away.

Copper turned around, motioning in the general direction of the Cornucopia. "Are you ready?" he asked.

“Of course not," Cyan said. "But, Inferno-Boy...let's go."

They walked in silence. Copper kept thinking about the final confrontation is past Hunger Games. The one camera was always pinned really close to the tributes, alternating with another that depicted an aerial view. It was usually gorier when more than two kids were in the last battle. The Capitol must be excited.

Finally, Cyan said, "I think we will be okay against Victoree and Flint. You’ve got your dart gun, so you can shoot at them from far away, which is something that I can’t do with my sword. I have a feeling Victoree will want to fight me one-on-one. She’s selfish like that.”

Copper looked down at the ground. 

So, they really were on their way to fight Victoree. It was becoming more and more real with each step that he took. 

"I’ve battled Victoree many, many times,” Cyan continued. “I know how she fights. And she had something on her side before, something that made her better than me. But now, I’ve got something even stronger. She won’t win. I promise.”

Copper looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

"Victoree has bitterness on her side. Bitterness for me. And she doesn’t like taking people down in one hit. Training with her for years combined with how she acted in the bloodbath was enough to show me that,” He paused. "You won’t need to worry about her immediately trying to kill us at the beginning. She likes to play with her food before she eats it, trust me. Victoree likes to try to ‘break’ her enemies before she attacks. She would taunt and criticize the other girls at the Academy when they fought her.”

"Oh, okay,” Copper said thoughtfully. He still wondered what Cyan had that Victoree didn’t. 

"You should shoot Flint with one of your darts,” Cyan said. “Get him out of the way early.”

Copper’s heartbeat quickened. “I…I have a horrible aim. But I’ll try.”

What had Cyan said last night?

_“Promise me you won’t die tomorrow.”_

And he had promised...knowing that he’d break it.

He couldn’t stay out of the way while Cyan went head-to-head with Victoree, even if he somehow managed to take Flint down during it. Copper knew that he would have to let Victoree kill him, because of course Cyan wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn’t be happy as a victor, knowing that he killed his ally. 

_Don’t be so stupid, Copper,_ the survivalist said. _Just kill Flint, and then sit back while Cyan battles Victoree. Maybe she will kill him...and then you can shoot her. Bam! Then you’re out of this place._

Copper trembled. He could never, ever do that. 

...Could he?

No. Anyway, he already accepted that he was going to die. He didn’t need to be afraid. All he needed to focus on was protecting Cyan.

Despite how much had happened, Copper could still remember Cerritulus standing in front of the Justice Building, his silver hair soaked in the downpour. 

_“Copper Hurst!”_ he announced with confidence, perfectly hiding his inner decay that was concealed so well from the public.

He remembered the wind in his face as he stood beside Adeline, their chariot thundering forward during the tribute parade.

And then there was the Training Center, where he played that plant game...the game that saved him from nightlock. It was also where he met Paisley and Weft, and Cyan, too. His first scare with Victoree happened that day as well, when she fired the arrow at the human-shaped target, declaring vindictively that he’d meet the same fate.

_“See that? That’s gonna be you someday.”_

Sitting across from Caesar Flickerman was almost darkly magical, despite the circumstances of it all.

Now, it was all lightyears away. He wasn’t the same person as before. No longer was Copper the scared, shaking tribute who scored a measly 3 in his evaluation. Gone was his perfectly gelled hair, expensive Capitol outfits, and appealing stage makeup. 

Everything that had happened was just leading up to one big crescendo...and it was finally here.

He wasn't handsome now. But finally... _finally,_ he felt truly brave.

Cyan wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Copper silently cursed himself for not realizing how precious life really was. It was horrible, taking everything for granted until it was finally wrenched away.

Every aspect of life was beautiful, no matter what anyone said. He didn’t want it to be over yet. Not now.

 _Then don’t let it be over!_ the survivalist said. _Fight! Be the heroic underdog who survives. It has happened before in the Hunger Games, you know. Careers don’t_ **_always_ ** _win..._

They reached the boulders, then. This time, though, Copper didn’t think of Adeline and Asher. They were somewhere else, and the place where they died had no meaning. He took deep breaths, willing himself to not panic. Cyan gripped his hand silently. The Career knew what this place did to him.

Copper didn’t even notice _her_ coming. He didn't see the blonde bombshell of a figure emerging confidently from behind a boulder until Cyan abruptly let go of his hand. The Career’s face turned into the same, determined expression that it had taken on during the bloodbath, and during the showdown with Leif.

 _No, no, no,_ Copper thought. _Not here! I don’t want it to happen here! We aren’t even at the Cornucopia yet..._

Victoree Obdurate had found them.


	48. Penultimate

Victoree Obdurate wasn’t so pretty anymore. 

Her blonde-light-brown-red hair looked like a tangled rat’s nest, a sharp contrast to the Reaping, when it was curled and bouncy. Her face was smeared with the blood of the fallen District 6 girl, and her golden jacket was darkened to rust.

But still, even with her tattered clothes, wrecked hiking boots, and bloodied sword, she looked...intense. There were men who would’ve insisted that she was beautiful, even at this stage in the Games. Even after the atrocities she committed.

Copper backed away instinctively as Cyan moved in front of him. 

_Not so brave now, are you?_ the survivalist said.

Victoree looked to Cyan, ignoring him completely. "Oh, _there_ you are," she said in a syrupy, synthetic voice. "I’ve been wondering where you ran off to...but I can see now that it’s true.” Her gaze drifted to Copper.

Copper remembered, then, what Cyan had told him.

_“She likes to play with her food before she eats it, trust me. Victoree likes to try to ‘break’ her enemies before she attacks. She would taunt and criticize the other girls at the Academy when they fought her.”_

He could feel the extra nightlock darts in his jacket pocket. They were a comfort now. 

"I guess I just felt like the alliance was going downhill,” Cyan said, a strange calmness in his voice. “What happened to Selene, then?”

The boulder-ridden clearing echoed with his words. This was the final confrontation. Copper knew that. But why did it have to be the same place where Adeline died? Why did it have to be so similar to where Asher had been killed? 

"That District 7 animal killed her," said Victoree, the phony, sultry tone to her voice faltering slightly. “I thought he would’ve done you in, too. But no, of course not.”

She paused. Copper realized that the girl was examining him hungrily, now, as if she couldn’t wait to slash that sword across his abdomen. 

"I’m not surprised you brought your pathetic little boyfriend along for the fight," she said. "But that was idiotic of you, Cyan Cordierite. Wouldn’t be the first time you didn’t use your brains. I can think of another time. What a _sweet_ guy you’ve turned into, nurturing pathetic canon fodder like that...or is it just an act, Cyan?”

"I can’t hear you so well," Cyan called over to her. Copper couldn’t detect any sort of nervousness in his tone.

Victoree took a step closer. "I asked you if this was all some sort of act. You don’t really _wuv_ him, do you?”

Cyan glared at her. "So what if I do? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She laughed then. It was a sick, arrogant sort of cackle that made Copper’s blood boil. “You’re an idiot, Cyan Cordierite. You’re too soft. I can’t believe this is what you’ve become.”

"Whatever," he said, chuckling humorlessly, "It doesn’t matter. This is the end of all of this, Victoree.”

"Yep, _finally,_ " she replied. "But it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re the biggest moron from District 1. I mean come _on_ ,” she said, pointing at Copper. “ _Him? Seriously?_ I’m so confused, Cyan. It makes zero sense.”

"You could never understand," Cyan answered softly. "But you don’t deserve an explanation. Copper’s a good person.”

Victoree laughed again. "Yeah, well people like _him_ are supposed to die in the bloodbath. They aren’t supposed to survive in a place like this.”

They were talking about Copper as if he wasn’t even there. Where was Flint, anyway?

Cyan half-smiled, his emerald eyes glowing. “Oookay, but he has survived here. Maybe you should stop underestimating people, Victoree.”

Victoree frowned. "Get your head out of the gutter, goddammit! You know just as well as I do that only the strongest survive. Only the Careers can really win. Everyone else, especially those scum from 10, 11, and 12— gets trampled on. It’s how the Games are meant to be.” 

“Not true,” Cyan said. “There are still victors from other districts, whether you pretend it happens or not.”

Victoree shrugged. “Yeah, well there are none from _Twelve.”_

She then took another step forward, but Copper felt like Cyan didn’t even see. Was she starting to break him? "You're a Career, Cyan, whether you like it or not. You seemed to be just fine with it when you volunteered with me at the Reaping. You can’t hide from what you are.”

Cyan's mouth dropped slightly, but it was clear that he had nothing to say back to his district partner. Copper wanted to say something, anything that would reassure him. But one look from Victoree silenced the possibility.

"You can’t tell me that you changed just because of Inferno-Fag,” Victoree said. "Do you want your little fire-crotch to be yours forever?"

Cyan did not move. Copper couldn't be sure, but he got the feeling that he was stunned.

Victoree laughed yet again. “Why don’t you just stab him with that sword of yours? That way, he _will_ be yours forever.” She grinned. "Your last kill."

Copper noticed little beads of water glimmering on Cyan’s lower eyelashes. Those weren’t really tears, were they?

Victoree noticed as well. “Are you kidding me? Yeah, cry baby, cry! That’s your whole problem, anyway,” she huffed. “You’re nothing but a baby.”

He said nothing. Copper kept his eyes on Victoree. Cyan appeared to be...lost.

"I bet you wish you hadn’t got distracted by that bright, _gorgeous_ hair,” Victoree said cruelly. “Maybe I’ll cut a lock of it and send it back with you to District 1...in your wooden box, of course.”

Cyan wiped away any trace of the tears.

He then shook his head. “Nobody lives forever. I’d rather die loved than hated.”

Victoree bared her teeth in disgust. “Being loved doesn’t fucking matter to me! I realized that a long time ago. Winning matters. More than anything.”

Cyan rolled his eyes. "Oh, but my dear Vicky...you're not going to win. Not in a million years. Even if I die, I’ll die being a good person. But you're going to die alone, just like how you are now. Because you don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself.”

Victoree bit her lip, but then smiled widely as her eyes flickered over Copper’s shoulder. “Alone?” she asked knowingly. “Hm, okay.”

Copper turned, then, but Flint was already there. The Career seized the back of his neck, tearing him away from Cyan as he pulled him into a stiff headlock.

Cyan looked back for one moment, his eyes dancing with fear, before turning to Victoree as she raced over to attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this story is going to have 51 chapters I think!


	49. Crescendo

Copper’s dart gun clattered to the snowy ground as Flint’s rippling muscles enclosed around his neck.

Then, Victoree’s sword immediately clashed with Cyan’s. Sparks flew everywhere, causing Copper to scream in shock, despite the constriction. 

“Keep him like that!” Victoree yelled at Flint over the sound of metal against metal. “Cyan’s going to watch his wussy boyfriend die...from the ground, with a sword in his stomach!”

She then struck at the District 1 boy, but he easily ducked away from the blow. Her sword shot against a boulder; the exact place that Cyan had been only moments before. Tiny stones flew everywhere.

“Maybe you should stop talking so much!” Cyan called out, grinning venomously as he shot towards her, his sword gleaming in the sunlight. 

The snow was almost blinding against the bright rays of midday. Copper felt disoriented. This couldn’t be real, could it? The boulders littering the ground formed a sort of maze for Victoree and Cyan to battle in...and he was stuck here, hanging limply in Flint’s iron grip.

He didn't know how Cyan could be so brave at a time like this. He was fighting expertly. It was quite different to the battle that Copper witnessed at the feast. This Cyan was stronger and more determined. It reminded him of the bloodbath, when it was Weft who was the cause of his wrath, not Victoree. That first day, there was no question that saving Adeline was the right thing to do, and even then, Copper didn’t have some sort of plan in place. All he had done was run through the chaos, hoping for the best. Maybe this situation, the final confrontation, wasn’t so different. 

_"Yeah, well people like him are supposed to die in the bloodbath. They aren’t supposed to survive in a place like this,”_ Victoree said only minutes ago. 

But Copper _had_ survived countless death-defying situations now. Maybe he was the epitome of an underdog, but his resilience was stronger than ever before. Even now, trapped in Flint’s grip, he could die at any second. But as Cyan said, Victoree liked to torment her victims before she killed them. She said she would take Cyan down first, and then make him watch as Flint twisted his “wussy boyfriend’s” neck at an unnatural angle…

 _You’ve still got three of those sharp, poison darts in your pocket,_ the survivalist murmured. It didn’t sound so desperate anymore. Instead, it seemed rather...calm. He was right at death’s edge, so what was the point in panicking anymore? The outcome looked bleak, but the serenity caused Copper’s body to cease its trembling. He was more focused now, knowing that there was absolutely nothing left to lose. 

He could barely see what was going on between Victoree and Cyan. When they weren’t disappearing behind a boulder, the two were a blur of movement, their frenzied attacks becoming more and more fierce with each strike. At one point, Victoree nearly stabbed him, but he moved out of the way by mere inches. 

Cyan half-laughed, but it was distorted by his heavy breathing. "You’re way worse than I remember, Victoree,” he said. 

Victoree gritted her teeth as she clashed her sword against his once more. “Fuck you!” she yelled. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Copper watched her carefully. There was nothing that he could do, trapped liked this in Flint’s steely grip. His arms hung limply at his sides, useless.

 _There’s always something you can do,_ the survivalist said.

Victoree struck at Cyan again, and Copper fully expected him to evade the blow once again, just as he did with the first two.

But the sword struck his shoulder. He inhaled sharply, his sword falling out of his hand and hitting the ground with a dull _thud._ His face was twisted into a grimace.

This was bad...this wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. Cyan _had_ to win. It was the only way. But how could he now, with no weapon in his hand? 

That day in the Training Center returned to the forefront of Copper’s mind, then.

_Horse nettle. Pokeberries. Dogwood. Nightshade. Holly. Wisteria._

_All toxic._

_A large "X" appeared over one of the berries he had marked as safe to eat. They were blueberries, weren't they?_

_NIGHTLOCK- Native to District 12. Highly poisonous. Inhibits cellular respiration resulting in the inability to create ATP. Death results in 1-4 minutes._

He reached a hand into his pocket as discreetly as he could. Flint didn’t seem to notice; he was focused on Victoree and Cyan’s brawl. 

“Get him, Victoree!” the boy bellowed. His grip relaxed ever so slightly...

Copper willed himself to think of something else— anything else— as his hand enclosed around a dart.

_"I told you to get away from her!" he sobbed._

_Annua didn't reply, of course. She just continued to shake, until, quite abruptly, she lay still. Her eyes stared up at Copper, unseeing._

Cyan clambered away from Victoree, trying to put more distance between them as he was now weaponless.

_The sinking feeling in his stomach only sank further as his eyes fell onto the body of Pascal, who was sprawled out on the ground next to the bush that she had been picking from. The dark, black juice of nightlock berries stained the small girl’s lips._

There was only one option left. 

Copper jerked his arm upward with tremendous speed.

Flint’s grip immediately tightened to compensate, but the reaction was far too delayed. Copper’s arm had already risen above him, colliding almost effortlessly with the Career’s neck. 

The dart pierced his skin, making a tiny popping noise as it dug into the flesh.

He let go of Copper, sending him crashing to the ground. Flint pulled the weapon out hastily. But the damage was done.

For a moment, the District 2 boy looked stunned. He lowered his arm and paused, staring at the nightlock dart in his thick, calloused hand. He took several seconds to examine in, twirling it around in his fingers dumbly. 

This gave Copper the opportunity to stumble over to his dart gun. He grabbed it before rolling over a tinier boulder, which caught Victoree’s attention. Suddenly, her focus was shifted away from Cyan.

“What the hell?!” she screamed shrilly. “Flint, what are you _doing?!_ ”

The District 2 boy’s body was beginning to twitch and jerk. His pupils were dilated, and he swayed, a glassy, fearful look in his eyes. In just a few seconds, he began to convulse more violently.

Flint’s body gave a sudden shudder, and he slumped to the ground. “Nightlock,” he whispered lamely, not breaking eye contact with Victoree. He experienced another tremor. This was the end. At least for him.

Flint wanted to win the Hunger Games. He wanted to move into the Victors’ Village and provide a better life for his family. He had trained for years and years for this. There was no power without pain after all, and that was a sacrifice he was willing to make when he volunteered at the Reaping. 

Victoree didn’t care. “You’re just as useless as Inferno-Fag,” she said disgustedly as his twitching suddenly ceased. 

Flint didn’t respond— he couldn’t. Then, the cannon fired. 

Victoree ignored it as if his death was the most trivial matter in the world. Instead, she adjusted her gaze to Copper. A tuft of the weakling’s hair was just visible over the top of the skimpy boulder he crouched behind.

“There you are!” she said, sneering. "I forgot about you, Copper. You know, since you’re just so fucking unremarkable.”

Copper raised his dart gun and fired recklessly, praying that it would hit the girl.

It didn’t.

The dart struck a boulder far from where Victoree was standing. 

_Get out of here while you still can!_ the survivalist urged him.

But he didn’t. Copper crept out from behind his hiding place and shakily fired the dart gun at her again.

Another miss.

Victoree snarled, thrusting her sword back into its sheath. She then pulled her bow and arrows off of her back with lightning speed, loading and firing it before Copper could even process what was happening. 

It took a moment before he registered the pain. Agony shot up his side, and Copper felt dizzy when he saw the spot of blood blooming over his coal-colored shirt. Faint blotches began to appear across his vision.

 _No, no, no!_ the survivalist said. 

He rolled behind the rock, then, nearly collapsing due to the pain. Maybe he was overreacting...it didn’t really even hurt so bad. Not yet. 

He forced himself to peak from behind the boulder. Cyan had his sword again, and he was approaching Victoree once more.

 _I did it,_ Copper thought. _Cyan has his sword again!_

This time, though, the weapon was clutched in his non-dominant hand. The boy’s wounded shoulder must’ve interfered too much for his other arm to be of any use. He appeared to be wincing, and his shoulder was darkened with blood. 

Then his sword sliced through the breeze, making the same whipping noise that Copper recalled from the feast. Victoree attempted to pull herself away, but she wasn’t fast enough. The blade ripped through her jacket and into her skin.

“Fuck!” she screamed, her eyes brimming with tears of hatred as she retreated. 

Copper knew that she wouldn’t be using the sword anymore. She was hurt now, so the bow and arrow would be the perfect way to cause damage from a distance. He saw her grimace with pain as she reached back to pull another arrow from her quiver. There weren’t many of them left. 

The arrow went flying at Cyan, and Copper squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the cannon. Surprisingly, though, the arrow didn’t hit the blonde Career, even from a relatively short distance. Maybe the pain was disrupting Victoree’s aim...

“You could never beat me before, at the Academy!” Victoree yelled in frustration. “And you won’t beat me now! Not today, not ever!”

Despite her confident words, there was a noticeable reduction in the speed at which Victoree was moving. She was acting more defensively, now.

Nevertheless, the wasp-like Career fired another arrow, smirking as it embedded itself in Cyan’s side.

“Cyan!” Copper rasped, his heart thundering wildly as he watched the boy cower away from Victoree.

 _Do something, Copper,_ the existentialist said gently.

He took a deep breath and dragged himself to his feet once more, his dart gun raised. Victoree was loading another arrow, intent on trying to shoot Cyan. 

_Hit her!_ the survivalist and existentialist instructed in unison. As if Copper had any other intention.

Copper could barely even stand up straight, let alone take a proper aim. But as soon as he pulled the trigger of the dart gun, he knew that somehow, his aim had been much, much truer this time...

The dart lodged itself in Victoree’s swarm of unruly hair, but Copper couldn’t tell if it actually penetrated any flesh.

She screamed and turned to face him, looking more enraged than ever before. “ _You!”_

In the next second, an arrow flew off her bowstring, invisible as it projected through the air. It speared into Copper’s thigh.

He crumpled to the ground. The splotches across his vision only proliferated as the pain engulfed him. Copper felt sick. He felt like he was _dying._ There was a different voice, now, and it wasn’t the self-preserving survivalist _or_ the moral-abiding existentialist.

 _It’s almost over, Copper,_ Asher said. _Be brave._

Then, Copper felt a hand entangle itself in his hair, wrenching him roughly upwards. Fresh pain exploded from his leg as it was twisted at an awkward angle against the ground. He cried out, but only slightly. 

Victoree chucked her bow against a nearby boulder and proceeded to remove her sword from its sheath.

 _She keeps switching weapons like Livia switches outfits,_ the survivalist complained. 

_Are you really making jokes at a time like this?!_ The existentialist shot back.

“You stupid little faggot,” Victoree spat. “I don’t even need to try to break you— you’re already broken— you already know you’re worthless.”

_Worthless._

He was worthless. He wasn’t brave, or strong, or beautiful. And he hadn’t even been able to protect Cyan from harm. The Career was still crouched some ways away, his hand over the wound that his district partner inflicted. 

"I am absolutely astonished," Victoree continued, "That you _ever_ managed to survive to see this. What do you even _do?_ _Cry?_ ”

 _No, do NOT cry,_ the survivalist said. _She’s still trying to break you._

Copper gritted his teeth as he endured the pain. The pain from his side, the pain from his leg, and the pain from Victoree’s words. The atmosphere was saturated in pain.

 _I SAID, do NOT cry,_ the survivalist commanded again. _Her words mean nothing. Nothing! Don’t give her the satisfaction._

Victoree twisted even harder. Copper couldn’t contain himself. He felt the drop of water trudge down his cheek...and it angered him.

“Fuck you!” he yelled, even though it physically hurt to scream. “Go to hell!”

Then, he was smacking her in the face with his dart gun, using all of his remaining strength in the process.

A sickening _crack_ erupted from Victoree’s nose as blood sprayed everywhere.

She stumbled backward, covering her nose in a daze. But Copper couldn't move. Everything was agony. He leaned against the boulder, forcing himself to sit up.

"Even if I die," Victoree snarled, wiping beads of blood off her dirty face, "This won’t be your happily ever after, Copper. Cyan didn’t want to give me that...and you won’t get it from him either. Your little romance ends today. There’s only one victor.” She laughed. “Thank God there’s only one victor.”

She then raised her sword at him. He wanted to run, but the pain was far too much. Heck, he could barely even sit up. Instead, he clenched his teeth while staring into her evil green eyes, determined not to look away in his final moments. His ghost would live with Victoree forever, if she won.

He felt her sword enter his stomach, and experienced a rush of pressure and pain as Victoree removed it from his abdomen. 

_Oh God, oh God..._

Something was dashing over to her as she steadied the weapon, but like everything else that had happened, it occurred too quickly for Copper to take it in well, especially with his vision growing even foggier now. All he saw was Cyan Cordierite approaching Victoree from behind, his rusted, bloody sword clamped tightly in his non-dominant hand. The sword went right through Victoree's jacket. It went right through her chest...and it didn’t stop until it came out the other end. 

The cannon fired, and everything went quiet. The battle was over.

Copper felt himself slump to the ground. Victoree was still staring at him, though her eyes were unseeing. Blood pooled around him.

 _It’s over,_ Copper thought. _It’s finally over._

 _No,_ said the survivalist in his mind. _It's not._

Copper looked up at Cyan. The boy was trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...next chapter should be fun :/. Like I said, there will only be 2 more chapters.


	50. Luminary

Copper’s head swam. He felt like passing out...or going to sleep. But they had done it. They had defeated Victoree Obdurate. 

But even so, it wasn’t over. The Games never really ended, did they?

_It’s just me and Cyan now._

Copper felt the blood pooling around him, but he was too disoriented to really consider the severity of it all.

He shut his eyes briefly, desperately wishing the pain to go away. Everything hurt. 

The icy snow beneath him was cold, but comforting. It buffered the pain, if only slightly. 

_You can still win!_ the survivalist said. _Cyan would die for you. You know that._

But winning wasn’t an option anymore. Copper at least felt content in one regard: Cyan was less hurt than he was. The hero of this story was going to win. Cyan Cordierite, victor of the 42nd Hunger Games. He wasn’t just another District 1 tribute. He was the knight in shining armor, the atypical Career…

 _Then what are you?_ the survivalist asked sarcastically. _The martyr?_

"Copper?"

He opened his eyes to see Cyan crouched over him. The Career’s face was full of concern. Behind him, Victoree was still slumped on the ground, the sword embedded grotesquely through her chest. 

"Copper," he said again. "Are you...are you alright?”

What kind of question was that? Of course he wasn’t. But the kindness in Cyan’s voice was apparent. It was more than what Copper could’ve asked for. After all, the boy was _supposed_ to be killing him right now.

The sky began to grow dark. The sun hid itself behind the stormy clouds as rain began to fall. Suddenly, everything felt warm...very warm. The temperature in the arena was being altered.

As the precipitation progressed to a steady downpour, Copper noticed that the snow around him was melting. 

It was turning...into spring.

"N-No," he said weakly. "I don’t feel good.”

Cyan crouched closer to him. "Do you think you can stand up? For just a second?”

He winced. “No, I don’t think so.”

The boy ignored his words and proceeded to lift him up. Copper attempted to balance on his good leg, tottering clumsily as he held onto the Career to steady himself.

“Cyan, please, I’m going to pass out,” he breathed, his head spinning. The world was hazy. There was blood everywhere.

Cyan used his free hand to pick up Victoree’s disregarded sword. 

“Here,” he said, attempting to hand the weapon over to Copper. “Just do it. Please.” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. 

"What are you talking about? Do what?”

“Go home, Copper.”

Copper refused to take the weapon. "I-I can’t…”

Cyan’s face was dark. "You aren’t going to die today, Copper. But we don’t have much time.”

"I can't…" he repeated. 

But the Career didn’t seem to hear him. “We talked about this already. You said it yourself: they have to have their victor. The last two can’t refuse to fight...you have to do this.”

 _Just do it!_ the survivalist shrieked. _You have a one-hundred-percent chance of making it home now! You started with a four-percent chance!_

"Look," Cyan choked, "There is absolutely no way that I can go home. I’m not the same anymore.” Tears leaked from his eyes, but he made no effort to wipe them away. "You'd be giving me what I want.”

But he knew that he couldn't kill Cyan, no matter what the Career claimed to want. He had promised Beatrice that if he came home, he would do it by doing the right thing. Killing his ally, his friend, his...more than a friend, was not the right thing. If he did that, he would never leave this arena. Not really. 

“I understand,” Copper said, because he did. “But time heals all wounds. This will be nothing more than a distant memory...someday.”

Cyan fell silent.

No matter what he did, Copper knew that his heart was going to stop beating in this arena. He would die right here, where Adeline had also passed away.

If he killed Cyan, he would become just like Victoree: cold, metallic, and heartless. Perhaps Cerritulus and Livia could live with that. His family certainly would be able to as well. 

Adeline’s voice came flooding back to him then. 

_“Just promise me, Copper,” she gasped. “That you’ll win for Asher. For your family. And,” she struggled to get the words out. “And for m-me.”_

Asher would surely want him to live a long, happy life, wouldn’t he? A life different from his own, which was taken away so abruptly in the 39th Hunger Games?

Adeline wanted him to win for the people he loved. But...there were others who he had grown to love, too. And sacrificing someone he loved was something that he was quite incapable of doing. 

_Cerritulus shook his head. "It doesn't matter." his silver eyes glittered with emotion. "Do I really need a reason to have faith in you? Why must I elaborate?" He began to sob profusely._

_Copper hugged the man tighter, and was surprised when he felt Livia join them. They stood there for only a moment, though it felt like an eternity to him._

He had grown to love Cerritulus and Livia, Pascal and Volant, and, of course, Cyan Cordierite.

Copper felt himself falling to the ground. He couldn’t stand anymore. He was dying. Cyan half-caught him before he hit the rocky floor. The Career then proceeded to cradle his head in his lap.

"It...it can’t end like this," Cyan said quietly to nobody at all. 

Everyone in Panem had to be watching them now. In the Capitol, they were probably eyeing the screen obsessively, waiting for him to bleed out. It was the most contrasting scene ever: the tiny, baby-like District 12 boy and the strong, tall Career. But they weren’t so separate anymore. Their souls were breaking down into one.

Copper was in so much pain. He was cold, tired, and dizzy. Even if he wanted to win, there was no way that he could do it now. All he wanted was for what Asher said to be true: for it to be over already… 

But there was a way to win, he realized. A way to win for all of them — for Asher, Adeline, his family, Pascal, Volant, Cerritulus, Livia, and countless others. 

And, most importantly, it was a way for him to win in his heart. He, the Inferno-Boy, the underdog, the one who, despite everything, somehow made it this far. 

“There doesn’t have to be districts,” he said quietly. This time, he wasn’t talking to Cyan. He was talking to the world. 

“Copper, don’t…” Cyan said raggedly. 

But he didn’t stop. As he spoke, everything seemed to go silent.

"There is a place without them,” Copper continued. “It doesn’t exist here on earth, but it could, one day. Everyone who ever did good in their lives is there. It’s a place without snow and rain, and stupid Games. Nobody ever goes hungry there, and everyone is happy. But it doesn’t have to be a place where you go when you die. We could live there too, if only the districts didn’t exist!”

Cyan looked scared. “Copper…”

He kept going. “Don’t you all see? District 1 and District 12 together? We are _all_ united as one—one against the C-Capitol...”

His body felt heavy, but the rest of him was at peace. Even though the rain was plummeting down harder than ever, he barely even noticed it.

Copper saw that Cyan’s face was closer now— only a mere six inches from his own. 

"This can’t be happening," Cyan said. "You promised me…."

The pain was almost washing over Copper. He could barely handle it anymore. "I wanted to tell the truth,” he said. “But...I-I couldn’t.”

"You are so brave, Copper Hurst," the Career whispered so quietly that even the most invasive cameras couldn’t pick up his voice. “Nobody will forget you, not with a speech like that. You’re like a _luminary._ ”

He smiled. "I know that someday, if I k-kept living, I would’ve loved y-you. There just wasn’t enough time.”

Cyan looked distraught and broken. 

"Someday...” he repeated. His voice was hollow.

The rain plastered his hair to his forehead, and he grasped Copper’s hand tightly. 

_I don't want to die,_ the survivalist moaned.

At least he had ensured that Cyan was going to survive. And at least he was able to show the Capitol what they truly were— monsters. There was no way they’d let him live anyway. Not after talking about a place where the districts were abolished. 

The world was getting blurrier. “Is it supposed to be this painful?” Copper asked. The Career’s touch numbed the agony, but only just.

“I- I don’t know, Copper,” Cyan choked. 

He was definitely crying now. 

"Oh please,” Copper said wearily, smiling despite it all. "Don’t cry. You’re going to be a victor, anyway. That’s a reason to smile, isn’t it?”

Cyan didn’t reply, he just continued to look down at him, more tears brimming in his emerald eyes. 

“Cyan,” Copper continued. He could barely get words out now. “J-just remember...you aren’t l-like Victoree…”

The Career looked up at the sky as if he was pleading for it all to just end. 

Cyan squeezed his hand, then. “G-goodbye, Copper.”

"No, n-not goodbye," he whispered before his voice gave out for good. “I’ll see you...again…”

Copper closed his eyes. He felt Cyan’s lips against his for what he knew was the last time. The pain was flickering, now.

And, in the next moment, the survivalist was silenced for good.

The hurt was inescapable, but it was fading.

 _“Copper, you’re alright,”_ a sarcastic voice said. _“You did it, Inferno-Boy. It’s time to let go.”_

Adeline.

So Copper did let go of everything. The memory of his last day with his family before the Capitol ripped him away. Laughing with Adeline when Cerritulus mentioned Victoree’s “gigantic breasts.” Kissing Cyan, and the warmth that it had provided to him in the hellscape of the 42nd Hunger Games. He would never grow old...he’d never see his parents again. He’d never see Beatrice and Steel, or anyone else who had made a profound impact on him.

 _"Let go,"_ Asher said. _"It's okay."_

He listened. Finally, Copper felt himself rising…

And all he could see was light.

.

.

.

_And the blood will dry_   
_Underneath my nails_   
_And the wind will rise up_   
_To fill my sails_

_So you can doubt_   
_And you can hate_   
_But I know_   
_No matter what it takes_

_I'm coming home_   
_I'm coming home_   
_Tell the world that I'm coming home_   
_Let the rain_   
_Wash away_   
_All the pain of yesterday_   
_I know my kingdom awaits_   
_And they've forgiven my mistakes_   
_I'm coming home_   
_I'm coming home_   
_Tell the world I'm coming home._

-Skylar Grey, _I'm Coming Home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go, now! But it’s going to be one LONG epilogue, so stay tuned.


	51. Epilogue

Everything around Copper was airy and celestial. He was surprised to see that the wounds Victoree inflicted upon him were now gone. The pain was nothing more than a distant memory, as if the final moments of the 42nd Hunger Games were a world away.

Well, it _was_ a world away. He wasn’t in an arena anymore— he wasn’t even on earth anymore. The filthy, soaked tribute clothing that he wore had disappeared. In its place was a white shirt and tan-colored pants. The cuffs were rolled up past his ankles, and his feet were bare. 

“Copper!” Adeline said, pulling him into a warm, tight hug. “You’re here! I’m so glad. But I really did think you would win, Inferno-Boy…”

He didn’t expect to see Adeline again so soon, and it was the most wonderful thing. Copper thought about their reunion too many times to count, particularly in his final days in the Games. And now, they finally were together again. He wrapped his arms around the girl.

She smelled like lavender and fresh laundry. Her hair wasn’t the soggy, dirty mess that it was in the arena. Copper was glad that his last memory with her in life didn’t reflect the way Adeline looked now. She seemed happy...happier than she ever was before, even back in District 12. Maybe it was a good thing, then, that they were here. 

Adeline looked at him smugly. "So, how long has it been? What happened in the Games? How far did you get?”

"It hasn’t been very long," Copper answered. "The Games just ended...I got second place."

Her eyes widened. _“Second?_ Who won?”

He expected to feel guilty, or maybe even regretful in that moment. After all, Adeline had wanted him to win...for her, and for everyone who couldn’t. But, to Copper’s surprise, he didn’t feel any of those negative emotions. The Hunger Games didn’t matter anymore. 

“Cyan Cordierite won,” he said simply. “Victoree almost did, but he killed her.”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “Typical outcome, District 1 winning. Did he kill you, too?”

Copper thought back to his time with Cyan. “No, he didn’t. Cyan really cared about me. He meant it when he said he wasn’t a typical Career.”

Adeline raised her eyebrows. 

“I cared about him, too,” Copper continued. “He protected me for a long time...and I protected him, as best as I could. In the end, though, Victoree was too much. She hurt me too badly…”

Adeline reached out and touched his shoulder. "I believe you, Inferno-Boy,” she said. “You were brave in the Games— braver than all of those Careers. I know you did the right thing, even if you had to die. I wish that you would’ve lived, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that you’re here with me.” 

"Copper? Is that you?"

His head tore away from Adeline at the sound of _his_ voice. He hadn't heard that voice in three years. Copper turned around to see a tall blonde blonde boy, preserved forever at age fourteen. 

"Asher!"

They hugged—a long, warm hug that instantly made up for the time that they had been apart. Then, they caught up. Asher told him about this magical, heavenly place, and Copper told him about the Hunger Games and life in District 12. 

“Wow, that was so amazing of you to talk like that to the Capitol, even when you were dying," Asher said, wide-eyed. “How brave of you, Copper.”

“It’s because of you,” Copper replied. “I remember what you said to Crystal before...it all ended in your Games. I was inspired by that.”

Then, a new voice spoke. “Adeline, when did Copper get here?”

He turned to see a beautiful, towering raven-haired girl standing next to Adeline. It was Selene, the girl from District 2.

“He just got here now,” Adeline answered. She then spoke to Copper. “You remember Selene, right?”

He was confused. Were Adeline and Selene friends or something?

“Yes, I remember,” he said, still puzzled. “District 2.”

Selene smiled. “Yep! Adeline and I got here around the same time, kind of. We sort of figured everything out together. Now, I’d say we’re pretty good friends, wouldn’t you, Addy?”

Copper had a sudden fear, and it was a strange sensation to feel, especially amidst all of the positive emotions he was currently being bombarded with. 

“Does that mean that Victoree is here, then, too?” he asked. 

Asher shook his head. “No. She died before you, and I haven’t seen her. She isn’t in this place. You’re safe, don’t worry.”

“Volant and Pascal were asking about you earlier,” Adeline said. “They wanted to know if you were okay.”

Copper’s ears perked up to that. “Can we go to see them?” he asked excitedly. 

"Sure, we can track them down." Adeline grinned. “We’ve got all day.”

.

.

.

It was a wonderful get-together like none that Copper had ever dreamed of. He was reunited with Pascal and Volant, who, like everyone else here, seemed happier than they ever had been during the Games. He then found Weft and didn’t even feel a twinge of resentment for the District 8 boy’s actions in the bloodbath. Paisley collided with him soon after, just as cheerful as ever. Quay made an appearance as well, holding hands with Pike as they talked with Selene about something. 

Later, he passed by Annua as she walked down a cobblestone street with an older boy with tanned skin. Copper opened his mouth to say that he was sorry...to ask for forgiveness...

But the girl simply smiled at him, waving happily as she continued on her way. There were no hard feelings in her eyes. 

It was a long time before someone asked the question again. "Who won the Games, then?" Pascal wondered aloud. 

"Cyan Cordierite," Copper said. 

A smile spread across Pascal’s face. “I _knew_ he’d win. I bet he’ll be bragging about it forever.”

"No, he won't," Quay said unexpectedly. Everyone looked at her, perplexed looks upon their faces. "He's not bad. He was a nice guy. Really.”

"Well, if you say so," Adeline said, rolling her eyes. 

Copper gazed up at the sky. It was adorned with a million stars. He had been worried about what would happen to Cyan after the Games. Was he living in luxury in the Victors’ Village? Was he coping well with the aftermath of the Games?

 _He’s safe now,_ Copper resigned. _And he’s a victor. There’s no point worrying about him anymore._

.

.

.

The final cannon echoed. Copper’s cannon.

The world was becoming cloudier. Cyan felt like he was dying as well— but perhaps he was, with Victoree Obdurate’s arrow stuck in his side. 

"Ladies and gentleman, I am pleased to announce the victor of the Forty-Second Hunger Games…Cyan Cordierite!"

That was his name, wasn’t it? Something like that. His name didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered. All that Cyan wanted was to leave the arena behind.

The ominous humming of the hovercraft came only seconds later. He covered his head with his hands, curling up into the fetal position as it took him in.

The world began to turn black. The arena was looking smaller and smaller as Cyan rose through the air. He knew that come tomorrow, he wouldn’t remember this.

...

His sleep was fractured and disturbed. Cyan couldn’t stop the visions that played on repeat. Victoree slashing open the stomach of the District 10 boy. Carob looking like a peeled-open pomegranate after the bloodbath. Pike falling over the edge of the chasm. Each arrow erupting from Victoree’s bow, lodging itself in a terrified Copper. The constant cold, relentless hunger, and incessant fear. 

_“Copper is a cheap, common metal,”_ their mentor had said during the Reaping recaps. _“There’s nothing special about it, which is fitting, since I’d say the same for all the tributes that District 12 offers.”_

Victoree snickered, but Cyan remembered what their mentor said in the next moment, even now, sprawled out on an operating table as he was brought back to life again.

_“But...it resists corrosion and is an excellent conductor of heat.”_

...

Nobody spoke of any concern of an uprising. If President Snow feared the impact of Copper Hurst’s dying words, he certainly was doing a good job at concealing it. The pathetic child’s speech of a place without control, without _order,_ was bound to create discord in all 12 of Panem’s sectors. 

There was no impact of his words. Not after the footage had been edited. But even still, there were many who had seen the pivotal moment in the 42nd Hunger Games before it was thrust under the rug. 

While Copper’s words were bright and powerful, his death dampened their impact. He was just a poor, unfortunate child. Another casualty of a brutal but necessary tradition that kept Panem together.

So that was it, then. Copper Hurst died for nothing. His only goal was to die for _something,_ and it seemed he hadn’t even reached that. But they _all_ died for nothing. All nine-hundred and sixty-six fallen tributes had died for the aimless cause.

The evening of the interviews came, and Cyan managed to fool the crowd, even with his feeble attempts at mirroring his previous persona from back before the Games began.

The way that the Capitol was framing his victory was just the way they portrayed the journeys of all the other victors— a heroic, brave voyage. Cyan Cordierite was shown to be destined to win, his greatness becoming a legacy in the 42nd Hunger Games. All that he could do in response was smile and nod, hoping that his facade wouldn’t be wiped away. 

It wasn’t wiped away until they played the scene of Copper's death on the screens. Cyan could feel the walls come crashing down.

…

His new home in the Victors’ Village was down the road from his father’s, and, thankfully, even further from the senior Obdurate homes (Victoree’s mother and father each had their own house in the village). Crystal Obdurate’s house, however, was by his. Cyan cringed at the thought of seeing her.

Unfortunately, though, the blonde girl was waiting outside her home on the day that Cyan returned. 

“Cordierite!” Crystal called.

He turned, dread bubbling in his stomach.

“Crystal,” he said quietly, acknowledging the girl despite his vicious desire to ignore her. 

She marched over to him, a steely look plastered on her beautiful, cold face. 

“Victoree should have won,” she spat accusingly, her amber eyes glowing with resentment. 

Cyan didn’t reply. He simply stared back at her. Crystal was his exact height, at least with those pretty rain boots on. 6’2”, then? She looked tougher than Victoree, but of course she was. She won her Games while her younger sister had failed.

“But,” Crystal continued. “She didn’t. Because she wasn’t strong enough in the end. But you were.”

Cyan sighed. “What are you trying to say, Crystal?”

The victor smiled back at him. It was a thin, cordial smile.

“I’m saying that I’m mad that she didn’t win, because I thought that she deserved it. But I also realize that you are the true victor; you showed courage and bravery in the end, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, Cyan Cordierite.”

She must’ve been talking about Copper with the _all the wrong reasons_ part. Were people really that judgmental? Did people actually consider him to be a weak fool just for having feelings for a kind, doomed tribute from District 12? 

“We have to mentor the tributes next year together,” Crystal said. “And I don’t want to be enemies with you since we will be working alongside one another. But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to forget what you did to my sister.”

Cyan was a little taken aback by Crystal’s words. If their positions were reversed, he didn’t think that he’d even be able to talk to the killer of his only sibling. Crystal’s logic was distorted, though. She was making amends with him because she believed in the cause of the Games, and she respected fellow victors as if they were true warriors who deserved such treatment. She valued Panem tradition more than she valued her own deceased sister. It was disturbing.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Cyan said. “I’m so sorry for what happened to Victoree. I had to win, though. I was destined to win.”

He didn’t believe it, but he knew that it was exactly what Crystal wanted to hear. This woman was going to be a prominent person in his life from now on, whether he liked it or not. 

She nodded. “I know.”

…

The following months were a stagnant, gray period of time. In a way, it was even worse than the Games itself. Back then, at least Cyan had a goal...and someone to live for. Now, in his empty mansion, there was no purpose for him. Not until the Victory Tour...and the next Games.

The Victory Tour. It crept up on him. It was time to visit each district, to look at the families of the children who he had killed. The animated, holographic images of the deceased tributes would move mechanically behind them, as if they were still alive.

...

Cyan walked out onto the stage of District 12. It was better to get the worst one over first, right?

His breath nearly caught in his throat as his eyes fixated on the moving image of Copper, who swayed slightly and blinked nervously. It was eerie. The black tribute jacket made him look like a child of war— like a puppy soldier. He was a little boy, but the Capitol’s toy...playing in a war that was all too real.

Cyan noticed that Copper’s family wasn’t in front of their son’s holographic image. Three figures stood in front of Adeline’s, the fallen girl tribute. There was no menace in their eyes as they looked onward, much to his surprise. Where were Copper’s parents? Where was the stoic Steel that he talked about? Where was his sister?

The crowd was small— smaller than Cyan had expected. It wasn’t like the sea that District 6 was going to be. It resembled a tiny pond, consisting of black-haired, olive-skinned individuals mixed with fair, blonde people.

“I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District 12,” he began, his voice shaking slightly.

First, he turned to Adeline’s family.

“I didn’t know Adeline. We never crossed paths in the arena, but I know that she looked out for Copper during the Games. I admired her for that reason. Anyone who Copper considered a friend is someone who I believe is truly special.”

The girl's sister was crying, covering her mouth to stop a sob from escaping her lips. Adeline’s mom nodded slightly, tears leaking from her gray eyes.

Then, he turned to Copper’s image. The boy looked back at him. There was no family to speak to.

“I did know Copper. And I think that everyone here knows what I felt when I was with h-him.”

The crowd stared up at Cyan, dead-eyed, but not accusingly. 

They weren’t mad at him, he realized. They really did understand how he felt about Copper.

“Copper saved me when I was about to die,” he continued, his voice nearly caving in. “And that is a debt that I am never going to be able to repay.”

He felt a hot droplet of water fall onto his knuckle. It was inevitable at this point. 

“Th-thank you for your tributes,” he said to District 12. “And thank you, Copper, for your sacrifice.”

…

The rest of the Victory Tour went by in a robotic blur. The family of the District 11 boy, Mattock, glared venomously at Cyan as he gave his speech. In District 9, Mr. Cordierite refused to exit the train car, leaving Cyan to his own devices. District 8 was unsettling too. And District 5. In some ways, the Tour was worse than the actual Games.

Finally, at long last, Cyan returned home.

…

Cyan heard later on that Copper’s family was executed because of his actions in the final moments of the 42nd Hunger Games. It was a horrific moment of brutal realization. Terrible, unforgivable, but not unexpected. Copper’s speech hadn’t gone without consequence.

And, in the years that followed, a grim tradition began to emerge in District 12. Brooke, Nelly, Hilt, Burnet, Charity, Hopper, Chock, and the rest of the kids selected at the Reaping all had one thing in common: they all had red hair. Finally, by the 50th Games, there were no eligible red-haired children remaining in District 12. And, just like that, the pattern ceased. 

Cyan knew why this happened. It was a punishment.

The 50th Games. It was a Quarter Quell.

_"On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that for every Capitol citizen killed, two rebels died, twice as many tributes will be selected at the Reaping."_

Cyan watched as a gruff, strong-looking boy called Haymitch was brought to the stage. There was something different about this boy. Something resilient and determined.

Maybe, just maybe, District 12 would have a victor this year.


	52. Copper

Back then, I was just one boy, in one world, with one point of view, living one life. Back then I thought I had a purpose in life. Back then I believed I could make a difference.

But now, I realize that the purpose I have in life is to die. To die so that others can live.

Cyan, who sits beside me, holding my hand, is going to win these Games. His life is so much more important than mine has been. He is going to die knowing he has made a difference. He isn't going to die wishing he could have done more, so much more.

That's all I ever was. A boy who wished he could do more. A boy with dull gray eyes and fiery red hair, with an older sister and brother and a best friend who was taken away from me. A boy who was, in reality, destined to die. A boy who was reaped for the Games, a boy who loved Adeline Fall, a boy who killed a fifteen-year-old girl and a Career. A boy who lies on the ground now in punishment for those deaths, slowly bleeding out through a hole in his stomach.

A boy who is not able to speak as he slips away, remembering his life. A boy whose lover is the last thing he sees. A boy whose last thoughts are the ones uttered softly from his lips. _I love you._

I am that boy. I am Copper Hurst. 


End file.
